


Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, During Canon, Established Relationship, Mpreg, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-13
Updated: 2007-07-14
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 141,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8725021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Picking up immediately where Volume 1 left us - the baby is finally here!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 1  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** Sam and Dean's first hours with baby Dylan  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

 

  
John swayed back and forth, singing softly to Dylan. "Do you need any help in there, you two?”  
  
“No!” Dean said quickly, glancing towards the door. "Just a couple more minutes.”  
  
“Okay,” John replied, walking down the hall, going into the living room, sitting down carefully on the couch, smiling down at Dylan.  
  
“Come on, Sammy, you can do this,” Dean encouraged softly, wrapping his arms around Sam’s waist, careful not to even graze his bandage or the stitches underneath. "Just do this and I can get you back to bed. Just-- just pee, okay?”  
  
Sam glanced back at Dean, tears filling his eyes. "My stomach hurts,” he said weakly, head dropping forward. "Please, just let me go back to bed.”  
  
Dean shook his head, pressing a kiss to Sam’s temple. "We’re going to stay right here until you’re done.”  
  
Sam groaned softly. "Dean, this is _weird_ ,” he insisted. "Go out into the living room, I can do this on my own.”  
  
Dean smiled and shook his head again. "I’m taking care of you and part of that job is making sure that you don’t wet my bed.”  
  
Sam chuckled softly before groaning in pain, biting his lip. "Please, Dean? I can’t do this with you right here.”  
  
Dean sighed and stepped back, careful to make sure Sam didn’t waver on his feet. "Okay, but I’m going to be just outside the door. If anything happens, you just call me, okay? I’ll be right out there.”  
  
Sam nodded understandingly and sighed, waiting for Dean to leave. He clutched onto the counter with one hand, closing his eyes.   
  
“Is everything okay in there?” John asked when Dean stepped out of the bathroom.  
  
Dean nodded, walking into the living room. "Yeah, he’s fine.” He walked around, smiling down at Dylan and John before Sam called for him. "I’ll take him back to bed now.”  
  
John nodded, not looking up from Dylan.  
  
Dean walked back into the bathroom, grasping onto Sam’s hands with one of his and wrapped his other arm around Sam’s waist. "Let’s get you back to bed now, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded and let Dean lead him back into the bedroom, still shaky on his own feet.   
  
“You wanna try feeding Dylan again?” Dean asked, sitting Sam down on the bed. "Dad said br-- breastfeeding might work.” He chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head. "God, I never thought I’d say that sentence.”  
  
“Why won’t he take the bottle?” Sam asked, a whine coming into his voice. "I’m doing it right, aren’t I?”  
  
“Ya sure are,” Dean assured him, giving Sam a gentle kiss. "Now just give me a sec to go get Dylan and a bottle, and I’ll be right back, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded and settled into the bed, taking as deep a breath as he could without his stomach aching.  
  
Dean walked quickly out of the room and down the hall, going to the kitchen first, warming up a bottle. "Dad, so this breastfeeding theory, you think it’ll actually work?”  
  
“Dean, you’ve seen those … man boobs, for lack of a better word,” John smiled, getting up off the couch, going into the kitchen, Dylan almost asleep in his arms. "I’m just saying, let him try it. It’s pretty obvious Dylan doesn’t like the bottle.”  
  
“Maybe he just wasn’t hungry those times,” Dean suggested, testing the temperature of the formula.   
  
John just raised an eyebrow. "Dean…”  
  
“Fine, if I can get Sam to do it, we’ll try,” Dean said, giving in. He turned and carefully took Dylan from John, Dylan’s eyes just tiny slits as he began to cry. "No, Dylan, it’s just Daddy, it’s just Daddy. We’re just going to visit Mommy for a bit, okay? Say bye to Grampie, Dylan. Say bye-bye.”  
  
“Bye-bye,” John said, giving Dylan a kiss. "You’ll come see me in a little while, won’t you?”  
  
“Yes, he will,” Dean said, giving Dylan a kiss of his own. "Let’s go, Dylan, let’s see if we can get something in that little belly of yours.”  
  
Sam ran his fingers over his bandage gently, still in shock that Dylan came from him. He closed his eyes and sighed, swallowing hard. "My baby,” he said softly, opening his eyes when he heard Dean come into the bedroom.   
  
“Look at Mommy,” Dean said, walking over to the bed. "Say hi, Dylan, say hi to Mommy.”  
  
Sam smiled weakly and reached out to Dylan as Dean sat down, moving Dylan’s blanket away from his face. "Hi, Dylan.”  
  
Dean set the bottle down on the sheets and got closer to Sam, handing Dylan over to him carefully; making sure Sam had him perfectly before moving back to grab the bottle. "Okay, Dylan, lets try this again.” He handed the bottle to Sam and studied Dylan’s face when Sam offered up the nipple. "Come on, Dylan, open up.”  
  
“Come on, baby,” Sam urged softly, trying to press the rubber nipple to Dylan’s lips, but Dylan just started to cry, moving as much as he could in Sam’s arms. "You need to eat, Dylan. Please?” His eyes began to well with tears and he squeezed them shut in frustration. "Dean, what if he’s sick, what if that’s why he won’t eat?”  
  
“He’s not sick,” Dean said quietly, stroking Dylan’s forehead with his thumb. "I don’t know why he won’t eat though. Just try the breastfeeding thing once, please Sammy?”  
  
“You’ll laugh at me,” Sam said, opening his eyes.  
  
“Sam, our son needs to eat, I’m not going to laugh at you,” Dean promised. "Just hold him up to your chest and see if he’ll like, latch on.”  
  
Sam sighed and handed the bottle back over to Dean, bringing Dylan’s head up closer to his chest. "Dylan, you have to eat something. You’ll get sick if you don’t.” He sighed and waited a few seconds longer. "Dylan, you must be hungry. Please, for Mommy? Please? Dylan, just do something, _please_.” He closed his eyes again, trying not to get angry. His eyes shot open only a few seconds later when he felt Dylan’s tiny lips attach onto him, and begin to suck.  
  
“Is he doing it?” Dean asked eagerly.  
  
Sam nodded. "I think so. I … least, yeah, I think so.”  
  
“Wow,” Dean said in awe. "Our baby’s eating.” He grinned up at Sam, eyes bright. "Dylan’s eating.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“I think he’s done,” Sam murmured sleepily, eyelids fluttering. He yawned loudly and nudged Dean.   
  
Dean scratched at the back of his neck and yawned before lifting Dylan up off Sam’s chest. "Oof, I think he’s getting heavier already, Sammy. What the hell are you feeding him?” He cradled Dylan in his arms, gently rocking him. "Hi Dylan, hi. Do you need to be burped? Yes? No?”   
  
Sam groaned softly as he tried to shift on the bed, a dull pain in his stomach and he could feel the stitches pull. "He …” Sam took a deep breath and started again. "Does he need to be burped every time?”  
  
Dean shook his head, lightly tickling Dylan’s feet, watching his legs kick. "Hi Dylan, how does Mommy taste? Mm-mm good?” He shifted Dylan in his arms, holding him up to his chest, Dylan’s head on his shoulder. As he reached down for Dylan’s blanket, he kept his eyes on Sam. "You’ve had a long day Sammy, go to sleep.”  
  
Sam shook his head. "I wanna … I wanna stay up, for him. I don’t want to miss anything.”  
  
Dean chuckled softly. "Sam, for the next couple months, this is just about it. Go to sleep, he’s going to wake you up in a couple hours to eat again anyway.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Sam asked, watching as Dean stood up. "Dean, I don’t want … I don’t want you to feel like I’m not doing anything.”  
  
Dean leaned down carefully and gave Sam a slow, sweet kiss. "He’s not even a day old yet, Sammy. You’ll have plenty of time to do stuff. And you’re feeding him; you carried him for nine months. Maybe he and I need some time together.”  
  
Sam smiled softly. "Maybe. Just-- don’t like, don’t do anything, okay? I want to be awake for everything.”  
  
“Oh yeah, Sammy,” Dean nodded sarcastically, “sex talk, me and Dylan, right now.” He laughed then turned his head to Dylan, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. "What do you say, Dylan? Wanna know how you got here? Oh, I bet my baby wants to know what Daddy had to do.”  
  
Dylan’s face crumpled before he sneezed into Dean’s chest.  
  
Dean laughed and rubbed Dylan’s back gently. "We’re just going to be out in the living room with Dad, ‘kay Sammy?”  
  
Sam nodded slowly and once again, tried to shift on the bed. "I love you,” he said softly, giving a small wave.  
  
“Wave to Mommy, Dylan, wave to Mommy,” Dean said, a large grin on his face. "Love you too, Sammy. So does Dylan.” He turned away from the bed and began walking towards the door. "Well, it all happens when two brothers love each other very much and then a big, bad demon gets involved…”  
  
Sam chuckled weakly then ran his fingers over the stitches in his stomach, taking a deep breath. He yawned again and let his eyes drift shut, but the pain in his stomach kept him awake.  
  
“...and that’s how babies are born,” Dean finished, walking out into the living room.   
  
John looked up at Dean, turning the television down a bit. "How are my boys?” he asked, smiling.  
  
“Sammy’s sleeping,” Dean answered, sitting down on the floor, setting Dylan down carefully on the carpet where they had been playing earlier, “and me and Dylan are just dandy. Aren’t we, Dylan? Aren’t we? I think we are, I think we are.” He began un-tucking Dylan’s blanket, unwrapping him. He frowned when he saw the umbilical cord, still a little grossed out by it. "I love you Dylan, yes I do. Because you are just the most perfectest little baby boy that ever was.” He pressed a tiny kiss to Dylan’s nose and let his finger get wrapped up in Dylan’s. "I don’t think Sammy was this interesting.”  
  
John just laughed. "No, I don’t imagine he was; not for you, anyway.” He waggled his fingers down at Dylan then stuck his tongue out. "Hi Dylan.”  
  
“Hi Grampie,” Dean said, voice high pitched as he wiggled his finger in Dylan’s grip, making Dylan almost wave. "Hi Grampie, how are you?”  
  
“God, ‘Grampie’ makes me sound old,” John said, leaning back in his seat.  
  
“Pah, old?” Dean asked, looking over at his father. "Nonsense. Fifty-four years young, Dad.” He looked back down to Dylan and leant down, pretending to listen to something Dylan was saying. "Oh, geez Dad, you should hear what he’s saying about you.”  
  
John snorted. "I’m sure.”  
  
“He says you’re old,” Dean continued, glancing over at John, “and wrinkly.”  
  
John laughed softly and nodded. "Yup.”  
  
Dean picked Dylan up carefully, with the blanket, and sat up straighter before pushing himself up with just his legs. "And he loves his Grampie very much.” He stepped towards the couch and sat down, carefully handing Dylan over to John.   
  
John cradled Dylan carefully with one arm and reached up with the other to play with the few hairs on Dylan’s head. "Hi Dylan, do you know who I am?”  
  
“Course he does,” Dean murmured, glancing towards the television.   
  
“I’m your Grampie,” John answered for him. "I’m your only Grampie, so that means you get double the Grampie-ness.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. "‘Grampie-ness’?”  
  
“Oh, and you can say ‘perfectest’?” John replied. "I don’t think so, Dean.” He looked back down at Dylan, letting the tip of his finger get sucked into Dylan’s mouth. "Hi,” he said softly, pulling his finger out of Dylan’s mouth. "Hi.” He shifted Dylan in his arms, holding him up to his chest carefully, rubbing his back through his blanket gently. "I love you, Dylan. I love you so much. I hope you realize how much everybody loves you.”  
  
Sam wiped at his forehead, suddenly sweating. Suddenly, his stomach lurched and he could feel his light supper coming up. He groaned and kept his mouth closed, swallowing hard. Sam coughed loudly and wiped at his mouth. He tried to push himself up, but the pain in his stomach just grew. He cried out and clutched at his sheets. "Dean?” he called out, before his stomach lurched again and this time, he vomited, turning his head to the side so that it landed on the floor. He whimpered softly and wiped at his mouth again.   
  
“I’ll be right back,” Dean said, pushing himself up off the couch. "Coming, Sam!” he called, walking down the hallway. When he pushed open the bedroom door, the stench of vomit reached his nostrils. He took a deep breath then walked into the room, flicking on the lights. "What’s going on, Sammy?” he asked, sitting down on the bed beside Sam, who was shaking and trying not to cry. "What happened?”  
  
“Got sick,” Sam mumbled, careful not to breathe on Dean.  
  
“I see that,” Dean said softly, rubbing Sam’s back. "What happened? What’s wrong?”  
  
Sam shook his head. "I don’t know,” he admitted, glancing over at Dean. "I’m scared, Dean.”  
  
“Of what?” Dean asked. "What’s wrong?”  
  
“You-- you seem so _confident_ ,” Sam explained, turning into Dean, snuggling up to him. "What if we mess up with him?”   
  
“You shouldn’t be sitting up, Sam,” Dean told him and shifted his hands to help Sam lie down, but Sam just shook his head.   
  
“Hurts more that way,” Sam said.   
  
Dean sighed and shimmied in closer to Sam, resting his head on Sam’s shoulder. "It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?”  
  
Sam nodded. "Yeah,” he said, glancing back down at the floor, gagging slightly. He cleared his throat. "I should clean that up.”  
  
Dean shook his head. "I will, and I’ll do it later. Are you okay, Sam?”  
  
Sam nodded again. "Just sick. I don’t know why. But I’m fine, I think.” He took a deep breath and looked around the room, eyes watering. "Are you happy, Dean?” he asked, sniffling.  
  
Dean sighed. "Yeah Sammy, of course I am. I’ve got you and Dad and our baby. Why, aren’t you?”  
  
Sam opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it and closed his mouth. He finally shrugged. "I don’t know. I just don’t feel well, is all. Once I can actually move without hurting and get out of bed, I’ll be fine.”  
  
“You’re sure?” Dean asked, brushing Sam’s hair off his forehead.  
  
Sam nodded furiously. "Yeah, I’m sure. I’m-- I’m sorry I threw up,” he said quietly, embarrassed.  
  
“Sam, who cleaned up after you when we were kids?” Dean asked, leaning back a bit to look in Sam’s eyes without going cross-eyed. "I did. And maybe Dad did too, a little.”  
  
Sam chuckled weakly.  
  
“I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again,” Dean finished. "So don’t worry about a thing; we’ll get a carpet-cleaner or something in here. You sure you’re okay?”  
  
“I’m sure,” Sam said, tilting his head to brush his lips against Dean’s cheek. He yawned loudly then wiped at his eyes. "I really am sorry about throwing up.”  
  
“I know,” Dean said, pressing his lips to Sam’s forehead. "It must have just been nerves or something, Sammy. It’s okay. I’m gonna go back out with Dad now, okay?”  
  
Sam just looked at him, biting his bottom lip.  
  
“Do you want me to bring Dylan in here instead?” Dean asked, either way ready to climb up off the bed.  
Sam sighed then shook his head. "Do whatever you want.”  
  
Dean studied Sam for a moment then dropped back down on the bed, settling in. "I really should clean that up, before it soaks in or something.” He sighed then leaned against Sam, nuzzling his shoulder. "This is romantic, huh?” He pressed a kiss to Sam’s cheek then pushed himself up off the bed. "I am going to go get like, a towel, or something, and try to get that out, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, watching as Dean stood up and walked over to the other side of the bed, examining Sam’s mess.   
  
“I’ll be right back,” Dean said before walking quickly out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, flicking on the lights. He opened up the linen closet and grabbed a towel, going back into the bedroom. "How do you think I should do this?” he asked, glancing up at Sam as he knelt on the carpet.   
  
Sam shrugged and began picking at his nail, bringing his thumb up to nibble on the end.   
  
Dean tried not to breathe in the smell too much and cleaned up what he could; luckily, Sam’s supper was a light one; he had only had soup with some crackers, so it cleaned up very easily. "See Sammy, not that big of a deal, easy as pie.” He let the towel sit for a few more moments before picking it up and balling it. He pushed himself up and walked back into the bathroom, dropping the towel in the laundry basket. He flicked off the lights and walked back into bedroom. "So, did you decide what you want me to do yet?”  
  
Sam shook his head. "You should be with Dylan. And Dad should too.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. "And you shouldn’t be? Come on Sam, I’ll smuggle you out of here. Dad will never notice you under my shirt, I swear,” Dean joked.  
  
Sam finally cracked a smile.  
  
Dean smiled back. "Got you to smile. Come on, you’re already sitting up and once I get you out there, Dad’s not going to be able to make you get back in here.”  
  
Sam’s smile grew, but finally, he just shook his head again. "I’m tired,” he said softly, looking from the comforter up to Dean’s understanding eyes. "Can-- can you stay with me, until I fall asleep?”  
  
Dean smiled and nodded slowly. "Let’s get you back down then,” he said quietly, climbing on the bed beside Sam. He lay down on his side and had one hand on Sam’s back to help him along. "Comfy?” he murmured, brushing Sam’s hair off his forehead.  
  
Sam nodded and yawned, eyelids flickering. "M’ tired,” he said again, mid-yawn. He snuggled in close to Dean, breathing in his scent. After minutes of just lying there, Sam spoke. "Dean?” he asked, breaking the silence.  
  
“Mm?” Dean asked, eyes opening.   
  
“We’re daddies,” Sam said, eyes opening wide, a grin growing on his face. "We finally have our baby.”  
  
Dean pulled Sam in for a hug, smiling against Sam’s skin. "We finally have our baby.” He pressed a kiss to Sam’s temple then shifted on the bed, taking a deep breath. "Now come on, go to sleep. You’ve got about an hour and a half before Dylan’s going to want to eat again.”  
  
Sam groaned softly and rolled slightly onto his side. "Love you.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam was jolted awake by Dylan’s loud cries. He gasped, not sure who was crying, before he remembered exactly who it was. "Dean?” he mumbled, reaching blindly for Dean, but the other side of the bed was empty.   
  
“Already on it,” Dean answered, walking back and forth, a wailing Dylan in his arms. "Come on Dylan, stop crying. Mommy’s awake now, you can eat. Are you hungry? God, Sam, tell me those man boobs are ready.”  
  
Sam groaned and braced himself with his left hand, awkwardly pushing himself up against the headboard. "Bring him here then.” He yawned loudly then pushed his sheets down off his chest.  
  
“Shh Dylan, shh,” Dean said softly, rubbing Dylan’s back. "Grampie is sleeping, so you have to be quiet.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully handed Dylan over to Sam, a bit of a challenge since Dylan seemed to be putting up quite a fight. "Use that-- Sam, be careful.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. "I _am_ being careful!” He adjusted his arm under Dylan’s head anyway though.   
  
Dean reached out and took Sam’s right hand in his, placing it where he wanted. "Is he-- is he okay, can he reach?”  
  
Sam nodded and sighed as Dylan’s tiny lips attached to him. "Okay … still as weird as it was the first time.”  
  
Dean chuckled softly. "Dad said we should stick with this for as long as we can.” He reached out to stroke Dylan’s soft hair, leaning in to kiss him gently. "He’s so gorgeous,” he said quietly, in awe. "He’s going to be _quite_ the lady killer, I’d say.”  
  
“Great,” Sam said sarcastically. "Another Dean Winchester on our hands, that’s exactly what I need.   
Exactly what I need to be worried about the nights he doesn’t come home till two in the morning.”  
  
Dean leaned back a bit, eyebrow raised. "Sam, seriously, he’s twelve hours old here. I don’t think we have to worry about girls for at least, oh I don’t know … ten years.” He grinned at Sam’s look of disbelief. "What? That was when I had my first kiss.”  
  
Sam sighed. "That’s great, Dean.” He looked down at Dylan, thumbing his tiny cheek.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. "Well sorry, Sam. But it’s not my fault you didn’t kiss anyone until you were sixteen,” he told him. "You were a friggin’ prude.”  
  
Sam lifted his head. "And you were a friggin’ slut, Dean. Our son is going to be raised with actual _morals_. He’s going to have rules.” He sighed and settled against the headboard, leaning his head back. "He’s going to be perfect,” he said softly.  
  
Dean sat back, watching Sam and Dylan together. "He _is_ perfect,” Dean corrected softly “just like you were.”  
  
Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. "Oh how sweet, Dean. Suck up.”  
  
Dean just stuck his tongue out. He grinned then took a deep breath, before yawning loudly. He wiped at his eyes then brought his feet up onto the bed, curling up at Sam’s feet. "Is it okay if this were the happiest day of my life?” Dean asked, reaching up to grab his pillow.  
  
Sam studied Dean for a moment, confused. "Yeah. Yeah, of course it is. Why-- why wouldn’t it be?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Dean murmured sleepily. "Because it used to be the first day that we-- that we, you know…”  
  
Sam smiled softly. "Yeah, I know.” He shifted Dylan in his arms when he felt Dylan’s mouth let go of his chest. He held him carefully, smiling down at him as Dylan yawned quietly. He yawned himself then chuckled softly when Dean rolled his eyes. "You wanna take him back to the crib?” Sam asked, yawning once more.  
  
Dean took a deep breath before yawning then sat up, pushing himself up off the bed. "Yeah, come here,” he said softly, taking Dylan off Sam’s chest.   
  
Dylan was quiet for about a second before his face crumpled up and he began to cry loudly again, wailing.  
  
Dean sighed then looked down at Sam, whose head had lolled over to one side. "This is going to be a long night.”   
  
Sam gave a half smile. "Or a long eighteen years,” he muttered, yawning again. "Lie him down, let me look at him. Let me love him.”  
  
Dean sat back down on the bed and laid Dylan down beside Sam, Dylan still bawling as he lay against the sheets. Dean crawled onto the bed beside Sam, Dylan between the two of them. "He’s so gorgeous, Sammy,” Dean said softly, propping his head up on his hand. "He’s our son.”   
  
Sam nodded, leaning down, letting Dylan suck on the tip of finger. Dylan quieted down soon after, grabbing onto Sam’s finger, legs kicking. "Look at him, Dean. Look at our baby. Look at our son.”  
  
“I am looking, Sam,” Dean said, smiling. "I see him. I see our gorgeous little boy. I see our Dylan.”  
  
Sam grinned and leaned in, giving Dean a quick kiss. "Do you think he knows who we are? Does he know we’re his parents?”  
  
“Of course he knows,” Dean assured him. "He knows _exactly_ who we are.” He leant down and gave Dylan a kiss on the cheek, rubbing Dylan’s head. "I’ve never been this happy before. Thank you for him, Sammy. Thank you for convincing me that this would be okay.”   
  
Sam grinned again. "You’re welcome. But I’m pretty sure you had a little something to do with him too.”   
  
Dylan’s mouth pulled off the finger but he kept his tiny grip on Sam’s knuckle.   
  
"You’re so perfect, Dylan,” he said gently, pressing a kiss beside Dylan’s ear. "And we love you.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 2  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** When Dean wants to take Dylan to meet Bob, Sam finally breaks  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

 

  
“Are you sure that you can do this?” Dean asked once more, watching Sam carefully.  
  
“Yes,” Sam insisted. “I swear. You won’t even be gone that long. I can take care of Dylan for a couple hours, he _is_ my son.”  
  
“I know that,” Dean snapped, “and I don’t doubt your ability to take care of him, I just … I can take him with me, you know. Bob wants to meet him, I’m sure, and you can catch up sleep for a couple hours.”  
  
Sam groaned and leant his head back against the headboard. “Dean, I promise, I will be fine. He will be fine. And I don’t want Bob anywhere near him. Let me take care of my son alone for once. I have to get used to it eventually, don’t I?”  
  
Dean sighed then rubbed his eyes, glancing over to the crib. “I just-- I’ve never left him. I don’t--”  
  
“Well I’ve never left him either!” Sam pointed out. “And Dad said he doesn’t want me going out yet, so either you don’t go in, or one of us has to leave him.”  
  
Dean sighed again. “Well, I have to go in, I have a shift. Dad’s not here, he’ll never know if you leave,” he offered, trying to bargain.  
  
“God,” Sam muttered, shaking his head. “Fine, Dean, take him.”  
  
Dean nodded once. “ _Thank_ you,” Dean muttered, standing up off the bed. He walked over to the crib, pushing the curtains away so he could look down at Dylan. “Hi Dylan, hi. Do you want to go to work with Daddy? Do you want to meet Bob?”  
  
Sam took a deep breath and watched Dean pick Dylan up out of the crib, rocking him back and forth a bit. He began biting on the bottom of his lip, before finally deciding on something. “Put him down.”  
  
Dean looked over at Sam in surprise. “What?”  
  
“Put him down,” Sam repeated, sitting up a bit more.   
  
Dean rolled his eyes and shifted on his feet, but kept Dylan in his arms. “Why?”  
  
“So you can help me up,” Sam answered, throwing the bed sheets off him. “I don’t-- he’s never been out of the apartment. I want to be with him.”  
  
Dean smiled slightly then nodded understandingly. “Give me just a second, Dylan,” he said softly, turning back to the crib, setting Dylan back in. “Alright then,” he said, going over to the bed. “Are you sure?”  
  
Sam nodded, looking up at Dean, eyes wide. “I want to be with him.”  
  
“Okay then, Sammy,” Dean said softly, standing by the edge of the bed. “Get your legs out, right?”  
  
Sam nodded slowly then slowly moved his legs out over the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain that he still had in his stomach. “Okay,” he said quietly, looking up at Dean. “I need my jeans.”  
  
Dean nodded once then went over to the closet and grabbed a pair of Sam’s jeans off the hanger, going back over to the bed. He knelt at Sam’s feet and scrunched the denim up, slipping Sam’s feet into the jeans. Dean grabbed onto the waistband and began pulling them up Sam’s legs, stopping when he got to his bent knees. Dean stood up a bit and got one arm wrapped around Sam’s waist, still holding onto the jeans. “Okay, stand up,” he told him, holding onto Sam as Sam stood slowly, legs shaking slightly. “It’s okay; I’ve got you, Sammy.”  
  
Sam nodded quickly and gripped at Dean’s shirt in his hand. “I know,” he assured him, smiling softly. “You’ve always got me.” He let go of Dean’s shirt to help him pull his jeans up the rest of the way.   
  
Dean buttoned up Sam’s jeans then smiled back at him. He tilted his head upwards, brushing his lips against Sam’s. His tongue slipped out, tracing Sam’s lips just for a moment, before pulling back, smiling against Sam’s mouth. “I love you, Sam.”  
  
“I love you too,” Sam said, straightening up a bit. “Can you grab a sweater or something for me, please?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, carefully letting go of Sam’s waist and going back over to the closet. “Does it matter which one?”  
  
“No,” Sam answered, leaning against the wall, head spinning slightly. “Anything’s fine.”  
  
Dean grabbed Sam’s Stanford sweater off a hanger and tossed it lightly over to Sam. “Should we dress Dylan?” he asked, going over to their dresser. “He’s never been out before, we should make him handsome.”  
  
Sam snorted and rolled his eyes, carefully pulling his sweater over his head. “Just-- just a sleeper or something.”  
  
Dean glanced back at Sam, who had his hand on the wall, walking over to the dresser. “What the hell is a sleeper?” he asked, yanking open up the dresser. “When the hell did we get him overalls?”  
  
Sam chuckled softly. “Dad bought them for him. Dad bought almost all the clothes in there.”  
  
Dean began rooting through the drawer, trying to find something. Finally, he grabbed onto something white and pulled it out, examining it. “It says ‘I Eat Dirt’,” Dean said, showing Sam. He grabbed something else. “Oh, this is definitely what he’s wearing. Bob will love this.”  
  
“Why are we dressing our baby to what Bob will like?” Sam asked, watching as Dean threw the tiny outfit over his shoulder then walked over to the crib.   
  
“You’re going to look so handsome, Dylan,” Dean said softly, picking Dylan up again. “Let’s go over to the bed, shall we?”  
  
Dylan hit Dean’s chest with his tiny fist and cooed up at him.   
  
“We shall,” Dean said, settling down on the edge of the bed then lying Dylan down.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Don’t look at me,” Sam said, shifting Dylan in his arms. “You’re the one who just _had_ to bring him to meet Bob, you figure out how to put the car seat in.”  
  
“Thanks for all your help,” Dean said sarcastically, glancing back at Sam. “God, how hard could this thing be? Why didn’t we get Dad to do this for us?” He stepped back and examined the backseat and took a deep breath. “How long does it take to walk?”  
  
“Dean, I’m not even supposed to be out of bed, let alone walking all around Anaheim,” Sam pointed out. “Maybe I should just go back to bed then, and you two should walk.”  
  
“Sam, you were right, Dylan’s first time out should be with both of us,” Dean said, shifting on his feet then leant down to press a kiss to Dylan’s head. He sighed then looked around the parking lot. “If we walk that far, I’m gonna need my cane,” he murmured to himself.   
  
“Then we’re going to need his stroller,” Sam pointed out, “since neither of us can hold him that long with only one hand. Dean, either way, you need to be at work, and soon. Just-- just figure something out, okay?” He shifted on his feet and began walking back and forth, bouncing Dylan up and down gently, singing to him softly.  
  
“Christ,” Dean muttered, reaching up to scratch his head. “Maybe we can call Bob, maybe he knows--”  
  
Sam groaned loudly and resisted the urge to smack Dean upside the head. “Dean, stop it with Bob, okay? Just-- just stop it. I hate hearing about him every goddamn second of every day. He is _not_ the most important person in your life.”  
  
“No, but he is the one _paying_ me,” Dean reminded him. “He’s the one who kept my job for me when I was in the hospital. He’s the one who let me leave early all those times you were sick, or-- or missing, he’s the one who never asked a friggin’ question about why I needed to call Christopher!”  
  
Sam swallowed hard at the mention of Christopher and he began taking deep breaths, trying not to let his eyes fill with tears.  
  
“Didn’t even mention him when he turned up dead!” Dean continued on, heedless of Sam’s reaction to the topic. “He could’ve called the cops, Sam. He could’ve told them that we had gotten his number hours before he died. So don’t say one fucking thing about Bob, okay? Without him, we never would’ve gotten this far.”  
  
“Whatever,” Sam muttered, handing Dylan over, practically shoving him into Dean’s arms. “Do whatever the fuck you want, I’m going back to bed.” He made his way quickly out of the parking garage and into the courtyard before Dean even moved.  
  
“Sam!” Dean called, glancing at Dylan. “Sam, get your ass back here!” He closed the Impala door and began after him, limping. “Sam!” he screamed.   
  
Dylan began to cry in Dean’s arms, face crumpled, wailing.   
  
“Shit,” Dean said softly, stopping where he was. “Hey, it’s okay Dylan, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s okay, I didn’t mean to scream, okay? It’s not you, I’m not mad at you. Mommy and me are just in a fight, okay?” Please don’t cry.” He shifted Dylan in his arms and began rubbing his back, swaying back and forth and bouncing up and down. “It’s okay, stop crying. Daddy’s here, shh, it’s okay. That’s it, stop crying, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Dean began walking again, slower this time, still rubbing Dylan’s back. “Let’s go get Mommy, huh? Maybe you’re hungry? Let’s go find Mommy.” He made his way through the courtyard, awkwardly opening the door to the stairwell, heading up the stairs. Dean opened the door to the hallway, just as awkwardly then quickened his pace a bit to get to the apartment. He opened the apartment door then walked in, looking for Sam. “Sam, where are you?” He turned the corner and saw him at the refrigerator. “There you are.”  
  
Sam grabbed his glass of milk and turned around, leaning against the counter. “Where else would I be?” he asked before bringing the glass to his mouth, taking a large gulp.   
  
“Sam,” Dean said softly, taking a step forward, knowing Sam couldn’t take a step back, already pressed to the counter. “I’m sorry I yelled.”  
  
Sam just stared at him, drinking his milk. “Yeah. Whatever.”  
  
“Well?” Dean asked. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”  
  
“I already said something,” Sam pointed out, taking another drink of milk. “I said, ‘yeah, whatever’. Yeah, whatever.” He set his glass off milk in the sink and wiped his milk moustache off with the back of his hand.   
  
“You’re not going to apologize for talking about Bob?” Dean asked.   
  
Sam shook his head. “Um, no. But speaking of Bob, you _really_ need to get to work before he calls or something.”  
  
Dean sighed and sat down at the dining table, watching Sam. “Sam, I don’t know what to say.”  
  
“Don’t say anything,” Sam shrugged. “Just get to work, before Bob like, shows up or something and I have to murder him.”  
  
“Sam, what are we supposed to do about--” Dean began, but Sam just cut him off.  
  
“I’m not going,” Sam told him. “And if I’m not, Dylan’s not. You go have fun at work now, we’ll be fine.”  
  
“I’m not leaving him, Sam!” Dean cried, standing up angrily. “He is _my_ son too, and I don’t want to leave him. He’s coming with me.”  
  
“Then I’m not going to be here when you get back,” Sam said, pushing by Dean and heading into the living room. “So get out then.”  
  
“You want me to choose between my brother and my son?” Dean demanded. “Sam, just because you’re all pissed off that you’re fat and I actually have friends outside of this relationship, doesn’t mean you can take it out on us. Maybe _you_ need to start hanging out with some other people. Maybe you should get a job.”  
  
“I hate you,” Sam gritted through his teeth, leaving the living room and going down the hall to their bedroom. “I don’t want you here anymore. Get out.”  
  
“Excuse me?” Dean screeched, following Sam into the bedroom. He quickly put Dylan down in his crib and turned back to Sam. “This is _my_ apartment Sam. I pay for it. If anyone leaves, it should be you.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Fine then.” He went to the closet and grabbed his duffle bag off the floor, dropping it down beside him. He grabbed all his clothes off the hangers and threw them into the bag then went to the dresser.   
  
Dean watched Sam, and soon felt the anger leaving, being replaced with guilt and worry. “No, Sam-- Sam, I wasn’t serious. Please don’t go, Sam. You can’t leave us.”  
  
“Then get your priorities straight, Dean!” Sam yelled, turning around quickly. “For once, I just want _one_ day without you talking about Bob and how great he is, and how nice he is. I just don’t care. When you’re here, it’s me and Dylan. And Dad. Not Bob.”  
  
“I know that, Sammy,” Dean said softly, reaching out to grasp onto Sam’s shoulder, but Sam just shook him off.  
  
“It’s Sam,” Sam told him. “And I don’t think you do know that, Dean. It sure doesn’t seem like it sometimes. Dylan isn’t even a week old yet, and you’re just--”  
  
“I’m not the first father to go back to work before his kid is a week old,” Dean interrupted. “It’s not a bad thing, Sam. It’s eleven o‘clock. I’m going to be back at four. Five hours. You were willing to walk out because I’m going back to work for five hours? You’re the one with the problem Sam, not me.”  
  
“I know,” Sam said softly, glancing over to the crib. “I know that.”  
  
Dean took a deep breath and watched Sam carefully, not sure what to do. “Sam, I really do have to get to work. Can we talk about this when I get home?”  
  
Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure, I guess.” He glanced back over to Dylan’s crib. “I’ll get his stroller, you get him.” He walked by Dean slowly, going out into the hallway to the closet.   
  
“Crap,” Dean muttered, grabbing his cane from its spot leaning against the wall, but then he realized he’d have the stroller to lean on, so he set it back. He went to the crib and picked Dylan up carefully then grabbed the diaper bag from beside the dresser. “Let’s go, little dude.” He walked out into the hallway and saw Sam pull the stroller out of the closet. “Thanks,” he offered softly, reaching out for Sam’s arm.   
  
“Got the bottles of formula in there?” Sam asked, not even looking up.  
  
“Yup,” Dean nodded, walking over to Sam, taking the stroller off his hands. “I … I really wish that you could come with us, Sam.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Whatever. We’ll just get Dad to put the car seat in when he gets home. We can do something later.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean agreed, examining the stroller. “Alright Dylan, I guess you and me are heading out now. You all ready, Dylan?” He pressed a kiss to Dylan’s head, rubbing the soft hairs there. “Yeah, okay. Say ‘goodbye’ to Mommy, ‘kay?” He held Dylan up to Sam and let Sam give him a soft kiss before cradling him back against his chest. “Wanna help me get the stroller down the stairs?” he asked, looking up at Sam.   
  
Sam sighed and raised an eyebrow, examining Dean. “Sure,” he said softly. He grabbed onto the stroller and followed Dean out of the apartment, pushing the stroller down the hall after him. Dean held the door open for him then Sam picked up the stroller off the ground and carried it down the stairs, Dean following behind him. Dean held open the door to the courtyard for him too then Sam sat the stroller down on the ground. “Call me if something happens, I’ll come get him.” Sam turned around and opened the door back up, disappearing into the stairwell.  
  
Dean shifted Dylan on his chest and watched the door close; hoping Sam would come back down. He didn’t.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“He is just _so_ cute,” the redhead woman squealed, leaning over the counter. “Is he yours?”  
  
Dean tried to resist the urge to glance down her shirt and smiled up at her, a large grin. “Yeah, he is.”  
  
“Oh he’s so cute,” the woman repeated, reaching out to run her fingers over Dylan’s head. “What’s his name?”  
  
“Dylan,” Dean answered, glancing down to see how much formula was left in the bottle. “Dylan John.”  
  
“Where’s his mommy?” the woman asked, leaning over the counter a bit more.   
  
“He’s at home,” Dean told her, making sure to get the point that ‘mommy’ really was a ‘daddy’ across. He took the bottle away from Dylan, setting it on the counter.   
  
The woman looked stunned for about a second before she plastered her smile on her face again. “‘He’? Oh, well, how …” she searched for a word, failing.  
  
“Gay?” Dean offered, patting Dylan on the back, trying to burp him.  
  
“Yes, I guess so,” she smiled. She picked up her bag off the counter and gave a small wave. “Well, then. Toodles.”  
  
Dean waggled his fingers, a fake smile on his face. “Toodles!” he called back, voice a high falsetto. Once she was gone, he cleared his throat and looked around. “Toodles?” he repeated to himself. “Winchester men _don’t_ say ‘toodles’ Dylan, got it? That was a one time thing, I swear.”   
  
Bob finished rearranging the window display then made his way over to the counter, leaning against it also, but no where near the provocative pose the redhead had been. “So, how come Sam didn’t come, anyway? He seems like the kind of guy would want to be with his kid all the time. The over-protective, soccer mom kind.”  
  
Dean nodded understandingly. “Yeah, yeah, he is. He just-- he couldn’t make it. He _wanted_ to come though.”  
  
Bob nodded slowly. “I don’t mean to pry, Dean--”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Then don’t. I mean, no offence, Bob.”  
  
“None taken,” Bob assured him, nodding his head again. He pushed himself off the counter and began looking through the store, watching as a young man walked in. “What time do I have you on the schedule to leave again?” he asked, glancing back at Dean.  
  
“Four,” Dean answered, shifting in his seat to put Dylan down in his stroller. He reached in and rubbed Dylan’s head softly, sticking his tongue out at his son. “And just to get this out of the way now, I can’t stay any longer. Sam will have my head.”  
  
“No, I know, I just wasn’t sure,” Bob told him. “You gotta get Dylan home, I understand that.” He took a deep breath and looked around. “And if Cheryl comes by today, I’m not here.”  
  
Dean smiled. “What’d you do now, Bobby? Hook up with her sister? Again?”  
  
Bob just glared at him and stood up straight, tapping his fingers on the counter. “No, she’s just ticked off about something. Who the frig knows? Women, right? Well, _you_ wouldn’t know, but believe me … sometimes I think you made the right choice.”  
  
“I didn’t choose to fall in love with Sam,” Dean said, standing up, taking the CD from the young man who just came up to the counter. He flipped the CD over and scanned it, before checking out what the actual CD was. “Metallica, nice,” he nodded, grinning. He took the guy’s twenty and gave him his change then handed him the CD in his bag. He waited until the young man was out of earshot and turned back to Bob. “I just did.” He took his seat and checked on Dylan, reaching into to adjust his blanket. “Go to sleep, Dylan,” he said softly and he grabbed onto the edge of Dylan’s stroller, pushing it back and forth, like rocking him.   
  
Bob shrugged and watched Dean with Dylan, smiling softly. “Dude, I still can’t believe you didn’t name him after me.”  
  
Dean glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“I mean, what the frig has a ‘Dylan’ ever done for you?” Bob grinned, reaching down to shove Dean playfully.   
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean sighed and examined the staircase, not quite sure on how he was supposed to get the stroller up the stairs. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone, calling Sam’s.  
  
Sam pushed himself up off the couch and slowly made his way down the hallway, going into the bedroom. He grabbed his phone off the dresser and checked the caller ID. “Yeah?” he asked, walking out of the bedroom.   
  
“I think I need your help getting the stroller up the stairs,” Dean said, pushing the stroller back and forth. “Wanna come down?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Sam answered, slipping his feet into his sneakers, opening the door to the hallway. He shut the phone off and slipped it into his pocket, making his way down the hall and then down the staircase. He crouched in front of Dylan’s stroller and reached into to tickle him softly. “How was Mommy’s little boy today?”  
  
“Total chick magnet,” Dean joked, watching as Sam stood up. “What about you?”  
  
Sam shrugged then blew a kiss at Dylan. “Fine.” He crouched back down in front of Dylan and grinned. “Mommy was a whittle wonely today, yes I was. You don’t want to leave Mommy again, do you Dylan? No, of course you don’t.” He reached in and picked Dylan up, holding him to his chest with his good hand, standing up. “Can you get that?” he asked, glancing to Dean then back to the stroller.  
  
Dean smiled softly and nodded. “Yeah,” he answered, grabbing onto the stroller. “Of course I can. Let’s get Dylan back upstairs.” Dean followed Sam up the stairs, smiling as Dylan’s eyes flickered open over Sam’s shoulder and he began to cry. “Oh, Dylan,” he said quietly, reaching out to Dylan’s soft hair. “Just a minute, ‘kay?”  
  
“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” Sam said, brushing his lips against Dylan’s cheek. “Come on, let’s get you home.” He stepped out of the way and let Dean open the door, before following him through. “Oh, you’re such a baby, Dylan.”  
  
Dean chuckled softly and pushed open the door to the apartment, letting Sam walk in first. “Dad home yet?”  
  
Sam shook his head and walked into the living room, sitting down on the couch. “When’s the last time he ate?”  
  
Dean thought for a moment. “Uh … one, one-thirty.” He headed over to the closet, shoving the stroller in.  
  
“Are you hungry?” Sam asked Dylan, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Oh, I bet you are. Almost three hours without eating, that’s a long time.”  
  
Dean came back from the closet and sat down at the opposite end of the couch than Sam.   
  
“Hold him for a sec, will ya?” Sam asked, shifting on the couch to get closer to him.  
  
“Of course,” Dean said, taking Dylan.  
  
Sam sighed and sat up a bit straighter, pulling his sweater over his head carefully and awkwardly. He sat the sweater down on his lap, covering his stomach and the long line of stitches and shivered as the cool air hit his skin. “Alrighty, lets see if he’s hungry,” Sam said, taking Dylan back. He settled in and got Dylan comfortable before getting Dylan’s head close enough to his chest to feed. “What, you’re not hungry?” Sam asked, shifting Dylan again. “Oh, there ya go, I knew you were. There ya go.” He slouched down into the couch and glanced over at Dean, who was watching him carefully. “Have fun at work?”  
  
“Sam,” Dean said warningly.  
  
“What?” Sam asked, playing dumb. “I didn’t say anything. That was a completely innocent question.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He toed off his boots and settled into the couch, grabbing the remote. “Ooh, ‘Family Feud’.” He glanced over at Sam to watch his reaction.  
  
Sam glanced back. “Subtle,” he said sarcastically. “You might want to work at that.” He groaned softly and reached down with his damaged hand and grasped onto the edge of his sweater as best he could with the three fingers he could just barely move and pulled the sweater up a bit further, trying to cover more of his chest. “So, when are you gonna make me talk?”  
  
“We can talk now, if you want,” Dean told him. “I just want to know what’s going on with you, Sam. We don’t really … talk anymore and when we do, it’s like this morning. Am I doing something wrong here? I mean, if I am, tell me. I’ve never done something like this before.”  
  
Sam shook his head slowly. “You’re not doing anything wrong,” he assured him quietly. “I don’t--” he took a deep breath. “I can’t do this,” he said finally, glancing over at Dean. “I don’t like talking about it.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean said softly, nodding. “Whenever you want to, I’m here, you know.”  
  
Sam nodded. “I know. I’m sorry I’m ruining everything. I’m sorry I didn’t go with you today.”  
  
Dean smiled gratefully. “Sam, I just want you to know: there’s nothing going on between me and Bob, okay? I’d never do that to you.”  
  
Sam nodded again. “Okay. I believe you.” He glanced down at Dylan, tracing his cheeks lightly. “I love you Dylan,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to Dylan’s head.  
  
Dean’s jaw dropped slightly. “You _believe_ me? You mean, you actually thought-- me and Bob-- Sam! I would _never_ do that to you, I swear. Especially not with Bob. I mean, god. Me and Bob? Seriously? Why would you think that?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. You think so highly of him--”  
  
“He’s my boss!” Dean interrupted.  
  
“And I just thought … and it’s not just that either,” he finished softly, looking down at the floor, slightly embarrassed.  
  
“What else have I done?” Dean asked, shifting on the couch to get a better look at Sam. “Sam, why didn’t you just--”  
  
“I didn’t think you loved me anymore,” Sam told him.  
  
Dean groaned and looked up at the ceiling, smacking himself in the head. “Sam, what the hell have I _ever_ done to make you think that? Really, am I really that bad of a … boyfriend? Or a brother, or whatever.”  
  
Sam shifted Dylan in his arms, trying to get more comfortable. “See, this is why I didn’t want to talk to you about it, I knew this is how you would react.” He took a deep breath and looked over at Dean. “Can we talk about something else now? Okay, I’m sorry I ever thought it, but I just--”  
  
Dean shook his head furiously. “No friggin’ way. You can’t just lay something like that on me and then say ‘let’s talk about something else’.” He stood up quickly and began pacing back and forth, muttering to himself.  
  
“Dean, Dean, stop it,” Sam said, watching his brother go back and forth. “Dean, stop. Okay, it’s not that big of a deal. Sit down. Please, just sit down.” Dylan let go of his chest and made a small gurgling sound, kicking his tiny legs. Sam smiled down at him and stuck his tongue out, laughing as Dylan kicked a bit more. “Hi Dylan, hi. You’re done now, are ya?” He set Dylan down on the couch and shifted so that he could look down at him. “I love you, yes I do.” He lifted Dylan’s tiny leg and blew raspberry on the bottom of his foot.   
  
“Why would you think that?” Dean asked, still pacing. “Why would you think that I don’t love you anymore? Because of Bob?”  
  
Sam looked up at Dean, frowning. “Because of Dylan.”  
  
Dean stopped pacing. “What? Okay, I’m not following.”  
  
“You love Dylan now,” Sam said quietly, folding his arms across his chest, hiding most of his skin. “I know that.”  
  
Dean groaned and knelt down in front of Sam, as crouching put too much weight on his ankle. “Sammy, Dylan’s my son.”  
  
Sam nodded but didn’t meet Dean’s eyes. “I’m your brother. People love their children more than their siblings.”  
  
“Sam, that may be true, in other people’s lives,” Dean began, “but we’re not other people. If you were _just_ my brother, that’d probably be true, but you’re-- you know what you are to me. I don’t just love you, I’m _in_ love with you. Are you jealous of Dylan?”  
  
Sam’s eyes filled with tears and he squeezed his eyes shut, but he shook his head anyway. “No.”  
  
“Yes,” Dean corrected, reaching up to play with the hair at the top of Sam’s neck. “Sammy, why?”  
  
“Because you love _him_ now,” Sam answered, finally looking Dean in the eyes.   
  
Dean shook his head, sighing. “I love _both_ of you, Sam. Both. You’re my brother, he’s my son. But he’s your son too and that makes it different.”  
  
Sam nodded and he reached up, wiping at his tears. “Okay.”  
  
“Okay?” Dean asked.  
  
Sam nodded again. “I love you, so much, Dean.”  
  
Dean nodded, leaning up to give Sam a kiss. He smiled down at Dylan, reaching up to tickle his foot. “He looks like you,” he said finally. “Like you did when you were a baby, anyway. What I remember.”  
  
“Yeah?” Sam asked, looking up at Dean, eyes bright. “I wish we had more baby pictures of us sometimes. I’d like to know how cute I was.”  
  
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, you were cute. For a crying, pooping, sleep machine.”  
  
Sam finally grinned at Dean then looked down at Dylan, blowing raspberry on his foot again. “Sounds like Dylan to me.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 3  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** John spends a bit of time with Dylan, before telling Sam a secret  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.   
 

 

**_sixteen days old_**  
  
Dean bumped the refrigerator closed with his hip and bounced Dylan up a bit, getting a better grip on him. He hummed to himself since he was pretty sure Dylan was asleep and grabbed a glass from the cupboard, setting it down on the counter. “She was the best damn woman that I’d ever seen. Something something, knocking me out with those American thighs. She told me to come but I was already there.” He poured himself a glass of milk then brought it up to his mouth, taking a large gulp. “You’re a candle in the window on a cold dark winter’s night. And I’m getting closer then I ever thought I might.” He took another drink of milk. “And I can’t fight this feeling anymore, I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for.” Suddenly he heard a sound behind him and he jumped, almost dropping the glass.   
  
John just stared at him, yawning loudly, scratching at his head. “REO Speedwagon? C’mon Dean.”  
  
“Hey, you just missed my AC/DC,” Dean defended himself. “And Dylan seems to like it.”  
  
John rolled his eyes and walked over to the counter, turning on the coffee machine. “Dylan’s asleep, Dean. I’m _pretty_ sure he doesn’t care.”  
  
“Dylan friggin’ loves my singing,” Dean said, sticking his tongue out at his father. “So does Sammy.”  
  
John snorted and chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Okay, so you’ve got a sleeping baby and a guy who’s tone-deaf to begin with.” He grabbed his mug and yawned again, tapping his foot. “Where is tone-deaf anyway?”  
  
“Also, sleeping,” Dean said, finishing off the glass of milk. He leaned against the counter and sighed, nuzzling Dylan’s cheek with his nose, before pressing a kiss to the rosy skin.   
  
John set his mug down then carefully took Dylan from Dean, making sure to support his head. He pressed a kiss to his tiny nose then brought him to his chest, rubbing his back softly. “Don’t listen to Daddy, Dylan, you don’t have to listen to him singing.” He pressed a kiss to the side of his head then walked away from Dean, going into the living room. John sat down in his La-Z-Boy and grabbed onto the handle on the side, bringing the foot rest up and sending himself back a bit. “Alright, Dylan, this is a man’s chair right here.”   
  
“Dad, don’t like, break him or something!” Dean called after his father, deciding to wait until John’s coffee was done.   
  
“Says the man who dropped his brother!” John called back, shifting in his seat. He looked down at Dylan, watching his eyes move under his eyelids, long lashes almost reaching his cheeks. “You’re such a miracle, Dylan,” he said quietly, reaching up to let Dylan’s tiny fingers wrap around one of his. “I love you. Everybody loves you. I want you to know that.”  
  
Dylan’s eyelids flickered opened, green eyes barely focusing up on John.  
  
John grinned. “Hi, Dylan, how are you today? Are you hungry, want me to go get Sammy?” He groaned softly then yawned, pressing a kiss to the top of Dylan’s head. “No, you’re just fine with Grampie, aren’t you? Of course you are.”  
  
Dylan made a small noise and brought his leg up, tiny foot kicking John’s chest.  
  
“I was a father _way_ before they were,” John continued on, whispering as if telling Dylan a secret. “And despite what your parents may think, I do know what I’m doing.”   
  
“Where do you want me to put your coffee?” Dean asked, coming up behind the chair, looking down at John.   
  
John shrugged. “Put it on the table, I’ll get it in a sec.”   
  
Dean walked around the chair and sat the mug of coffee down on the table before turning around and going back into the kitchen. “Want me to make breakfast?”  
  
John tilted his head back and saw Dean standing in the kitchen, head stuck in the refrigerator. “Yeah, cook up that bacon and something.”  
  
“Fried eggs?” Dean asked, lifting his head.  
  
“Sure,” John answered, looking back to Dylan. “Let’s go get Sammy, see what he wants.” He grabbed onto the handle on the side and sat himself up, standing up. “Has Sammy fed him yet?” John asked, heading down the hallway.  
  
“Not since …” Dean thought for a moment, “six? Seven? Something like that.”  
  
John nodded then knocked lightly on Sam’s bedroom door, before pushing it open. “Sam?” he asked softly, sticking his head in. “You awake?” He heard Sam groan softly and the mattress shift.   
  
Finally, Sam spoke. “Yeah, bring him here,” he said softly and the mattress squeaked a bit as he sat up.  
  
“Hear that Dylan?” John asked, pushing the door open the rest of the way, deciding to leave the lights off. “ _That_ is the sound of enthusiasm right there.” He shut the door behind him and walked over to the bed, sitting down on the edge. “Get used to it, I have the feeling you’re going to be hearing it a lot.”  
  
Sam just stared at John, head cocked to the side. “Ha ha,” he said sarcastically, reaching out for Dylan. “Oh, come here, baby, are you being good for Grampie?” He held Dylan up in the crook of his arm, smiling down at him.  
  
John smiled softly and scratched the back of his neck, watching Dylan and Sam. “Sam, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”  
  
Sam looked up from Dylan to his father, grin on his face. “Yeah, what-- what’s going on?”  
  
John took a deep breath and looked around the room, not quite sure how to start off. “Sammy … we knew I wasn’t going to be living here forever.”  
  
Sam’s smile disappeared and he swallowed hard. “Ye-- yeah, I guess.”  
  
John bit his lip and sighed. “I mean, you guys don’t want me here. Your old man, cramping your style. I just … I think it’s best if I head out sometime.”  
  
Sam swallowed again, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat as his eyes began filling with tears. He dropped his head forward and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I mean … yeah.”  
  
“Now I’m not saying that I’m leaving today, Sammy,” John said quickly. “Or even tomorrow. But you know it’s something to think about, right?”  
  
Sam nodded again. “Wh-- why are you telling me now? I mean, it seems so sudden. He’s only two weeks old.”  
  
“I know, Sammy,” John said, reaching out to set his hand on Sam’s knee. “But I just don’t want … don’t want you two to get too dependent on me with Dylan. Your mom and I didn’t have either of our fathers hanging around to help us out.”  
  
Sam sighed, turning Dylan around to hold against his chest, needing something to hold onto. “Can’t you stay?” he asked, looking up at John, eyes brimming with tears. “I really want you to stay. So does Dean. And-- and Dylan needs his grandfather. Please?”  
  
“Sam--” John began, but Sam just cut him off.  
  
“Don’t leave us for hunting again,” Sam pleaded quietly as his tears finally spilled over. “Please, Dad. We can do this, we can all be a family, like--” he hiccupped, “like we were before _I_ left.”  
  
“Sam, we’re still going to be a family,” John assured him, suddenly regretting bringing up his leaving so suddenly. “I’m sorry, I should’ve-- I should’ve waited, I shouldn’t have said anything. I just needed to tell you, to let you know.”  
  
Sam sighed and shifted Dylan in his arms, reaching up to wipe his tears off his face. “Did you tell Dean yet?”  
  
John shook his head. “I knew … I thought he would handle it better than you would, so I wanted to tell you first, let you know first.”  
  
“Yeah, of course,” Sam muttered, more tears running down his face. He sniffled loudly then handed Dylan back over to John. “He’s not hungry yet, you can take him back out to Dean.” He wiped at his eyes then his nose, bringing his knees up to his chest. “You should spend some time with him, before you leave.” His voice broke on the last word and he began to cry harder.  
  
“Sammy, I’m sorry,” John said softly, rubbing Dylan’s back. “Nine months ago you couldn’t wait to get rid of me. I just thought--”  
  
“You thought wrong,” Sam snapped, glaring at John. “Go tell Dean. He’ll wanna know.”  
  
“Sam, why are you taking this so hard?” John asked, shifting on the bed to get closer to Sam.   
  
Sam shrugged and sniffled. “You’re my dad,” he said finally, as if that explained everything.   
  
John sighed then stood up. “Dean’s making bacon and eggs for breakfast, so if you want to see how that turns out, I suggest joining us in a few minutes, ‘kay?”  
  
Sam nodded. “I’ll be out in a little bit.” He smiled softly up at John and Dylan as John walked out of the bedroom. He cleared his throat and wiped furiously as his eyes and sniffled loudly. He groaned softly as he struggled to climb out of the bed. Pain shot up through his stomach but he managed to get himself up. He walked slowly to the bathroom, flicking on the lights. After he had relieved himself and washed his hands, he slowly and carefully made his way out into the hallway, walking past John in the living room and going into the kitchen.  
  
“Hey sexy,” Dean said, glancing back when he heard someone enter the kitchen. “What’s going on?” He studied Sam’s face, seeing the bloodshot eyes and red nose. “What’s wrong?”  
  
Sam shook his head, going to the refrigerator to grab the milk carton. “Nothing,” he said softly, giving a half-smile. He closed the door then walked over beside Dean, watching him poke at the bacon. “Dad said you were making breakfast. I didn’t actually believe him.”  
  
Dean gave Sam a small glare then glanced back, looking into the living room. “He’s so good with him,” Dean said quietly, glancing up at Sam.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam agreed softly, leaning against the counter. “Did he-- did he tell you?”  
  
“Tell me what?” Dean asked, going back to the bacon.  
  
“He’s leaving,” Sam said softly, stepping closer to Dean.  
  
“When?” Dean asked sharply, looking at Sam.  
  
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. But he said-- he said he was. I tried to tell him that he didn’t have to, but he still is. Can’t you make him stay? If _you_ ask, he will.”  
  
Dean sighed then glanced into the living room again. “Sam, we knew he was going to leave. He’s been great this whole time, but it’s probably hard on him. I mean, if we had another kid, what would you do if you found out Dylan had gotten them pregnant?”  
  
Sam’s face filled with disgust, but he quickly tried to hide it, looking down at the floor.  
  
“Exactly,” Dean said, waving his spatula at Sam. “I mean, come on, Sam; a homosexual incestuous consensual sexual relationship.”  
  
Sam had to laugh at that. “How long have you been saving that one for?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Long enough. _Anyway_ , my point is, he probably can’t wait to get out of here. Forget that his sons are … us and just do what he does best. He’s a hunter, Sam.”  
  
“So are we,” Sam pointed out, taking a step back as a bit of grease flew out of the pan. “We’re not leaving.”  
  
“No,” Dean agreed. “But we _have_ ,” he finished quietly, disdain coming into his voice.  
  
Sam’s head dropped, ashamed, before he turned on the spot and put the milk carton back in the refrigerator. “You never left,” he said softly, embarrassment coming into his voice. “You never wanted to. I’m the one--”  
  
Dean turned to Sam and cut him off with a kiss, pressing him up against the counter. He gripped Sam’s hair in his hand and pulled him in harder, slipping his tongue into Sam’s mouth.  
  
Sam moaned softly and gripped at Dean’s t-shirt, pulling him in. “What was that for?” he asked breathlessly, pupils dilated as he blinked wildly.  
  
“I don’t want you to feel bad for leaving, Sam,” Dean answered, before leaning up to kiss him again. “And don’t make him feel bad either, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded slowly. “Okay. Just-- just don’t tell him I told you. I think he wanted to. Or-- or, I don’t know really. Just don’t bring me into it.”  
  
Dean nodded back. “Okay. But it’ll be okay Sammy, we can take care of Dylan and we can take care of ourselves.” He stepped back from Sam and went back to the stove. “I mean, how do you think I feel? I’ve never really _lived_ without him. Driving around and staying in motels aren’t exactly homes.”  
  
Then from the living room, Dylan’s bawling came into the kitchen and Dean glanced over at Sam, who sighed. “Yeah, I’ll get him,” Sam said, walking out of kitchen and going into the living room. “Hi baby, are you hungry now?” He sat down on the couch slowly and took Dylan from John, trying to soothe him first. “Wanna stop crying? Wanna stop crying? Shh Dylan, it’s okay, Mommy’s here. Yes, Mommy’s here.” He laid Dylan down on the couch so he could pull his shirt off, glancing over at John who was trying not to watch. “C’me ‘ere, Dylan,” he said, lifting him back up. He cradled him to his chest and sighed as Dylan stopped crying and began feeding.   
  
“That uh,” John took a sip of his coffee, “that doesn’t feel weird?”  
  
Sam looked up at John, shaking his head. “No, not-- not really. Not anymore. It _did_ , but I’m used to it now.” He lifted his right hand up to examine it. “It’s a little hard to hold him though. But I guess we knew that, didn’t we?”  
  
John nodded slowly, taking another sip of coffee. “Guess we did. Or you did.” He sighed then settled into his chair a bit, changing the television channel. “Anything on you want to watch?”  
  
“At nine in the morning?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. “Uh … I don’t think so. Put whatever you want on.”  
  
John sighed again then just turned the television off, setting the remote down on the table. “What’d Dean say when you told him?”  
  
Sam looked at John in confusion. “How did--”  
  
“Sam, I’m your father,” John interrupted, “and I’m not deaf. I heard you.”  
  
“Then you must’ve heard Dean too,” Sam pointed out.  
  
“Dean’s a lot quieter than you are,” John explained pointedly.  
  
Sam sighed then began biting on his bottom lip. “He doesn’t want you to go either, but he understands why you are, why you have to. If he’s okay with it and you promise that you’ll visit, then I’m okay with it too.”  
  
John nodded, a smile on his face. “Of course I’ll visit. As long as you two don’t move or change the locks the second I’m out the door. And I told you, I’m not leaving yet, not for a bit.” He pushed himself up out of the chair, finishing off his coffee. “I’ll check on breakfast.” He walked into the kitchen, setting the mug in the sink. “How you doing?” he asked, peering over Dean’s shoulder.  
  
Dean nodded. “Okay. I think. I guess we’ll see.” He chuckled softly then glanced back at his father. “Sam mentioned what you mentioned.”  
  
John nodded. “Yeah. I know. He said you’re okay with it.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “I knew it was coming. Sam did too, he’s just having trouble with it. He just wants you to be around for Dylan.” He gasped as a piece of grease landed on his hand. “Shit,” he muttered, snatching it back to wipe on his boxers.   
  
“I’ll visit,” John told him, leaning against the counter, watching Dean poke at the bacon. “You know me, I’m always around. Somewhere.”  
  
“Do you think we can make it?” Dean asked, glancing up at John. “By ourselves, with a baby?”  
  
John set his arm around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him in. “Of course you can. _One_ Winchester could make it, but two … two of you will be okay.” He sighed then glanced down at the stove. “Better hurry up with that, I think me and Sam are getting hungry.”  
  
Dean chuckled then turned into John, pulling him in for a full hug. “Thank you for everything, Dad,” he said softly. “Thank you for everything.”  
  
“Of course,” John said, patting Dean’s back. He cleared his throat then stepped back. “Why don’t you go spend some time with your family, I’ll finish breakfast.”  
  
Dean looked at John in confusion. “Dad?”  
  
John just smiled. “Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Dean.”  
  
Dean smiled back then handed John the spatula, going into the living room. “How’s my baby? How’s his mommy?”   
  
Sam looked dreamily up at Dean, a smile on his face. “Everybody’s good,” he answered softly, looking back down at Dylan.   
  
Dean sat down beside Sam, leaning down to give Dylan a soft kiss. “He’s so tiny,” Dean said quietly, studying Dylan carefully. He wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulders, getting closer to them both. “I’ve never seen anything so tiny before.”  
  
“Like a kitten,” Sam smiled, leaning back.   
  
“Like a kitten,” Dean echoed, letting Dylan wrap his tiny fingers around Dean’s one, “except that he’s ours.”  
  
Sam nodded. “I still can’t believe it. He’s been ours for two weeks already and I still-- every time I see him it’s like the first time.”  
  
Dean smiled, glancing up at Sam. He gave Sam a kiss, nodding knowingly when he pulled back a bit. “I know what you mean.”  
  
“Do you think it’ll ever get old?” Sam asked, nuzzling Dean’s cheek, eyes down on Dylan.   
  
Dean shook his head. “God, I hope not.”  
  
John walked out into the living room, smiling at the sight on the couch. “If you guys are ready, breakfast is.”  
  
Dean looked up, before glancing back down at Dylan. “Yeah, okay.” He stood up and turned to face Sam. “Need some help getting up?” he asked. At Sam’s nod, Dean leaned down a bit and carefully wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist, helping Sam stand up.  
  
Sam held Dylan to him and groaned in pain, eyes squeezing shut as he finally stood up. “I’m okay.”  
  
“Okay?” Dean asked, just making sure. “Okay, let’s go get something to eat.” He pulled out Sam’s chair and stood beside him, one hand on Sam’s back to help him sit down. “Dylan okay?”   
  
Sam nodded, glancing down at Dylan. “I think he’s done. I need my shirt,” he murmured, glancing up at Dean.  
  
“I’ll get it,” John said, setting Sam’s glass of orange juice in front of him.   
  
“Thank you,” Sam said, glancing back at John.  
  
John sighed and grabbed Sam’s t-shirt off the couch, going back into the kitchen. “Okay.”  
  
“Give Dylan here,” Dean said, slowly taking Dylan from Sam, smiling down at his son. “Hi, baby. Hi, Dylan. Hi.”  
  
Sam smiled up at John and took his shirt from him. He frowned when he realized that even if he could use his right hand, with every lift of his arms, he could feel his stitches pulling. “Lot easier to get off,” he muttered, feeling his cheeks turn hot.   
  
“Okay, lemme help,” John said, taking Sam’s shirt back. He leaned down a bit and held the shirt up, enough for Sam to slip his hands through the arm holes. John pulled the shirt down a bit and Sam’s head popped through the neck hole, ruffling his hair. “There ya go, Sammy.”  
  
Sam smiled up at John, despite blushing. “Thanks, Dad.”  
  
John stood up, pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head, ruffling his hair even more. “All you’ve gotta do is ask, Sammy.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam nodded slowly, grabbing a piece of bacon off his plate. “That was embarrassing,” Sam muttered, glancing over at Dean.  
  
Dean shrugged. “Everybody needs some help sometimes, Sam.” He shifted Dylan, cradling him with just one arm and reached out, picking up his fork. “Thanks for breakfast, Dad,” Dean said, smiling at John across the table.  
  
John shook his head, taking a bite of his eggs. “Thanks for starting it, Dean.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “All in a day’s work.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and bit a piece off his bacon. “And the last time you made breakfast would be?”  
  
Dean turned to Sam slowly, glaring. “That’s not the point, Sammy. The point is, I made it today.”  
  
Sam glanced down at his chest. “I’ve made every meal for Dylan, for the past sixteen days. I think I win.”  
  
“That doesn’t count, Sam!” Dean exclaimed, looking over at John. “Dad, tell him that doesn’t count.”  
  
John set his glass down, smiling, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Dean. I think it might.”  
  
Dean groaned and looked over at Sam. “It can’t be _that_ hard.”  
  
Sam snorted, trying not to laugh. “Okay then, _you_ try breastfeeding.”  
  
Dean smirked, glancing down at his own chest. “Don’t think I won’t.”  
  
Sam sighed, exasperated and began poking at his eggs. “That’s great, Dean.” He brought his fork up to his mouth, chewing his eggs slowly. “But don’t come complaining to me when your nipples are sore and you leak between meals.”  
  
Dean and John both groaned and John dropped his fork down onto the plate. “Too much information, Sammy,” Dean said, looking over at him, “Too much information.”  
 


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 4  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** It's Sam birthday, and for his present, they go to San Diego  
**Spoilers:** The Benders, and Green Eggs and Ham. Yes, Green Eggs and Ham.  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

 

**_nineteen days old_**  
  
Dean shifted on his stomach then smiled at Dylan, who was looking up at him. “ _I am Sam. Sam I am_ ,” Dean began, glancing down at Dylan. “ _That Sam-I-am! That Sam-I-am! I do not like that Sam-I-am!_ What about you, Dylan? Do you like Sam-I-Am? Probably not, he is one weird dude. _Do you like green eggs and ham? I do not like them Sam-I-am. I do not like green eggs and ham_.”  
  
Dylan made a soft sound then flailed his arms, still watching Dean. His fist clenched and unclenched before he kicked his leg.   
  
Dean giggled softly then rubbed Dylan’s stomach, leaning in to blow a raspberry above his belly button. He smiled down at Dylan again before looking back to the book. “ _Would you like them here or there? I would not like them here or there. I would not like them anywhere. I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them Sam-I-am._ Do you want me to make you green eggs and ham, Dylan? My eggs are so bitchin’, you don’t even know.”  
  
“Please don’t swear around him,” Sam said, walking into the bedroom, going over to the dresser.  
  
Dean opened his mouth in mock shock, leaning into Dylan. “There he is, that’s Sam-I-Am. He is such a nerd, Dylan, isn’t he?” Dean changed his voice to high squeak and continued. “Yes he is, Daddy. Mommy is such a nerd.”   
  
Sam turned around, shaking his head, trying not laugh. “Dean, don’t do that.”  
  
“Dylan, that was a very bad thing to say,” Dean said, trying to be stern before his voice broke with laughter. “That was funny Dylan, come on, give me a giggle or something.” He stared down at Dylan, before sighing. “Okay Dylan, give me the silent treatment. I won’t finish your book if you don’t--” he stopped talking when Dylan gave a small sigh of his own then made a small, hiccupping sound.  
  
Dean smiled at him then moved in a bit closer to him, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. He laughed again when Dylan reached out, trying to grab onto the end of Dean’s nose. “Okay, okay, I got it. _Would you like them in a house? Would you like them with a mouse?_ God, this Sam guy is so annoying. Can’t he get the picture?”  
  
“Dean, have you ever actually read that book before?” Sam asked, walking over to the bed.  
  
“No,” Dean admitted, looking up at him. “Me and Dylan are reading it together. So no spoilers.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes then leaned down, pressing a kiss to Dylan’s head. He shook his head then stood back up walking over to the door. “Oh, Dean?”  
  
Dean glanced back at him. “Yeah?”  
  
“He eats the green eggs and ham,” Sam told him, before he started to laugh and left the room.  
  
“Oh, come _on_ , Sam!” Dean yelled in frustration. He groaned softly then shook his head. “What a nerd.”   
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Why are we doing this again?” Sam asked, tossing his duffel in the trunk.  
  
“Because Dad wants to do this for us, Sammy,” Dean answered, closing the trunk. “A: it’s your birthday. B: he’s leaving soon. C: it’s your birthday. It’s just a little overnight trip Sammy, it’s okay, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded and began picking at the fraying hem of his hoodie. “Okay. But what if--”  
  
Dean shook his head. “No. Whatever you think is going to happen, isn’t. We’re going to freakin’ San Diego, man, there’s nothing wrong with that. Beach party!” He raised his hand for a high five, but Sam just stared.  
  
“We live like, twenty minutes away from the beach _now_ ,” Sam pointed out, “why do we have to go to San Diego? Why do we have to put our son in the back of a too-hot car, in California, and drive him around?”  
  
“Just to piss you off, Sammy,” Dean smirked, reaching up to pat Sam on the shoulder. “It’s what, ninety minutes or something? Sam, it’s either San _Diego_ or San _Francisco_. And I know you don’t want to go to Frisco. Just be nice for once and let Dad do this. Mini-vacay!” He raised his hand again.   
  
“No, Dean,” Sam said, slowly shaking his head. “Put your hand down. Get the car seat in, I’ll go get Dad and Dylan.” He sighed then made his way past Dean.  
  
“Oof,” John groaned, lifting Dylan out of his crib. “Getting heavy there, aren’t ya little man?” He pressed his lips to Dylan’s cheek. “Can I tell you a secret, Dylan? You have to promise not to tell anyone. Can you do that for me?” He sighed then sat down on the edge of Sam and Dean’s bed, cradling Dylan. “I’m leaving tomorrow, after Sam’s birthday. Today is your mommy’s birthday, did you know that? So close to your birthday. Well, tomorrow, I’m gonna hit the road. Your parents don’t know yet, so you can’t tell them.”   
  
“Dad?” Sam called, pushing open the door to the apartment.  
  
“I love you,” John said quickly, kissing Dylan again. “I’m not leaving because of you, okay?” He stood up and smiled when Sam came to the bedroom door. “You ready?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Just wanted to get you two and Dylan’s bag.”  
  
John nodded back. “Yup.” He turned and grabbed Dylan’s bag off the bed. “Well then, let’s head out.” He walked past Sam, making his way down the hallway.  
  
Sam reached in and shut off the lights, turning on the spot. As he did, he saw into John’s room, noticing something different about it. He glanced up the hallway and heard John putting on his shoes. Taking a deep breath, he walked into John’s bedroom. The bed was perfectly made and the photos and books of John’s dresser were cleared off. Sam sighed then walked over to John’s closet, opening the door. Empty. “Shit,” Sam muttered. He shook his head slowly then made his way out of the room. “Dad?” he called.  
  
“Yeah, what’s going on?” John asked, coming out of the entrance way.   
  
Sam opened his mouth to say something but decided against it. He smiled then shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s go.”  
  
John smiled back. “Alright then, let’s go. Happy birthday, Sammy.”  
  
Sam’s smile grew. “Yeah, thanks.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Death comes driving down the highway in it’s Sunday best,” Dean sang along with the radio. “A fire of unknown origin took my baby away. A fire of unknown origin took my baby away!”  
  
“Dean, can you turn that down a bit please?” Sam asked, leaning forward in his seat. “Dylan’s getting fussy.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes but turned the music down anyway. Then he changed the station altogether. The car was soon filled with slow piano music; just piano for what seemed like forever before the drums and guitar finally kicked in.  
  
“You may tire of me, as our December sun is setting, ‘cause I’m not who I used to be,” the voice on the radio sang. “No longer easy on the eyes but these wrinkles masterfully disguise the youthful boy below.”  
  
“Bo-ring,” Dean said, reaching to change the station again.   
  
“No,” Sam protested. “I like it. Keep it.”  
  
Dean sighed and groaned but dropped his hand to his lap anyway.  
  
“Even at our swiftest speed we couldn’t break from the concrete, in the city where we still reside. And I have learned that even land lost lovers yearn for the sea like navy men. ‘Cause now we say goodnight from our own separate sides, like brothers on a hotel bed.”  
  
Dean glanced back at Sam, who was watching him, a slight smile on his face.  
  
John glanced over at Dean then checked the rear-view mirror. “Okay … yeah, I’m changing it.” He reached out and changed the station and the sound of electric guitar filled the car.  
  
“Met a girl, thought she was grand. Fell in love, found out first hand,” the voice sang.  
  
“No, Dean, change that,” Sam protested, reaching his hand forward between the seats but Dean just slapped his fingers away.  
  
Dean chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No way, Sammy. This is my song. Mm!” Bopping his head, he began singing along. “She took all I ever had, no sign of guilt, no feeling bad. In a trap, trip I can’t grip. Never thought I’d be the one who’d slip. Then I started to realize I was living one big lie. She fucking hates me!” he screamed, banging his hands on the dashboard.  
  
John shook his head and tried not to laugh. “Dean, maybe you should--”  
  
“Trust, she fucking hates me! La la la la!” Dean continued on, ignoring both John and Sam’s protests.   
  
“That’s it,” Sam muttered, leaning forward again. This time, he managed to change the station before Dean noticed. “Thank god,” he said, leaning back in his seat, looking down at Dylan. “Daddy’s insane,” he said softly, shaking his head. He was happy, until he realized what the song was and he groaned as Dean began to sing along to that one too.  
  
“If you want my body and you think I’m sexy, come on sugar, let me know,” Dean sang, sticking his tongue out at Sam. “If you really need me just reach out and touch. Come on honey, tell me so.”  
  
“Dad, would you _please_ do something about this?” Sam pleaded. “Make him stop.”  
  
John smiled. “Okay. I’m changing the station. It stays on the next station for the next fifteen minutes then Dean can pick. Then you. Okay?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Thank you.”  
  
The radio filled the car with sounds of synthesized pop beats and Justin Timberlake’s voice. “If I wrote you a symphony just to say how much you mean to me. If I told you you were beautiful, would you date me on the regular? Well baby I’ve been around the world, but I ain’t seen myself another girl. This ring here represents my heart, but there’s just one thing I need from you. I can see us holding hands, walking on the beach, our toes in the sand. I can see us on the countryside, sitting on the grass, lying side by side. You can be my baby, let me make you my lady, girl you amaze me. Ain’t gotta do nothing crazy, see all I want you to do is be my love.”  
  
All three men in the car groaned loudly and Dylan began to screech.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“We’re here, Dylan!” Dean squealed, lifting Dylan’s car seat out of the car. “Look around, Dylan. Isn’t it pretty?” He smiled and sighed, leaning against the car. “Look at the ocean, Dylan. Look at it.”  
  
John grabbed the bags out of the trunk then began making his way up to hotel. “Hurry up you two,” he called back to Dean and Sam.  
  
“Happy Birthday, Sammy,” Dean said softly, looking up at Sam, eyes squinting from the bright sun.   
  
Sam smiled at Dean and sighed, looking around at the view. “Come on, we gotta get inside.” He closed the car door behind him then they both made their way up to the hotel. Sam held the door open for Dean then followed him over to the counter where John was waiting for them. “Wow,” he said, looking around. “Uh, Dad, I don’t think that we--”  
  
John cut him off with the shake of his head. “Sam, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. Now come on, let’s go up to the room.” He leaned into Sam. “I think Dean wants to go to the beach,” he whispered, smiling.  
  
Sam smiled back then shook his head, glancing over to Dean who had set Dylan’s carrier on the counter and was making faces down at him. “Dean, come on, we’re going to our room.”  
  
Dean looked up at him, tongue still sticking out. “Okay,” he nodded, picking the carrier back up. “Are you excited Dylan? I bet you are. Come on, let’s go see our room.”  
  
John pressed the button on the panel and the elevator doors dinged, opening up. He stepped back and let the two young women walk out before he walked in. Sam and Dean followed him in, Sam leaning against the wall, Dean bopping his head to the music playing. They stayed silent until the doors dinged again and they stepped out.  
  
“What’s the room number?” Dean asked, starting off down the hallway.  
  
John checked the card-keys. “Uh, four-nineteen.”  
  
Dean continued on walking before he stopped in front of a door. “Four-nineteen, I found it.” He waited for Sam and John to catch up with him then stepped back, allowing John room to open the door. Sam and Dean followed him in, Sam closing the door behind them. “Nice,” Dean said, nodding with approval. “Look Dylan, this is how rich people live all the time!”  
  
“I don’t suggest getting used to it,” Sam smiled at Dean.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes then sat down on one of the beds, sitting the carrier down beside him.   
  
“Let’s get you out of here,” Sam said softly, unbuckling Dylan and lifting him up and into his arms. “That’s much better, isn’t it? I know how you feel. That car was definitely _not_ built for someone my height to fit in the back.” He moved Dylan’s carrier and sat down in its place, rubbing Dylan’s back gently. “This is nice, isn’t it Dylan?” He pressed a kiss to his temple. “Yes, it is.”  
  
“Can we go to the beach?” Dean asked, glancing at John then to Sam.   
  
John shrugged. “Yeah, I guess, if you want.” He smiled as Dean immediately jumped up, going to his bag. “Do you even own swim trunks?”  
  
Dean glanced up at him, a grin on his face. “Hell yeah, I do.” He pulled the pair of black shorts out of his bag then held them up proudly. “KISS rocks.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “You go get changed, me and Dad can handle dressing Dylan.”  
  
Dean gave a smile then made his way into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.  
  
Sam began making faces down at Dylan, smacking his lips and sticking his tongue out. “Ready for the water, Dylan? Oh, of course you are.” He made a fish face at him then smiled, laying him down in the middle of the bed. “What should we put him in, Dad?”  
  
John sighed then grabbed Dylan’s bag, setting it down on the bed. He reached in and grabbed a tiny long-sleeved shirt and a pair of pants. “We’ll have to take sunscreen too. If he goes in the water, you’re going to wanna take those off him.”  
  
Sam nodded understandingly then shifted on the bed, getting over Dylan. “You sure you want me to help you Dylan? You can’t do this on your own?” He sighed and sat back, as if actually waiting for an answer. “Okay, okay, I’ll help you.” He stuck his tongue out again then unsnapped Dylan’s romper. He bit his lip, not quite sure how to get him out without hurting him.  
  
“He’s not going to break, Sammy,” John assured him, sitting on the bed beside Sam. “You ever take him out of a romper before?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Dean handles everything with sleeves. I just … I don’t want to hurt his arms.”  
  
John shook his head. “You won’t. Your mother freaked out about it too, with Dean. Always afraid every time she touched him he’d break. You’re going to have to learn to do this, Sam.”  
  
Sam nodded then grasped onto the bottom of the romper and began pulling it up, holding Dylan off the bed a bit with his hand on his back and underneath his head. “If I pull this over his head, he’s not going to like, smother or anything, will he?”  
  
John shook his head, chuckling softly. “Sam, just because he’s a baby doesn’t mean he’s made of glass. He’ll be okay.”  
  
“Okay,” Sam said softly, nodding. “Just lie still Dylan, okay? It’ll be okay.” He smiled down at him then got the romper up around his head, still on his arms. “Shit,” he muttered softly, pulling the cloth down so Dylan’s face wasn’t covered. “Just a second Dylan, just put up with Mommy for a second longer.” He lightly grasped onto Dylan’s arms, pulling them through the sleeves. “One more second,” he assured Dylan quietly, trying to ignore the fact that John was watching him intently. He carefully lifted Dylan’s head off the bed and finished pulling the romper off, giving a sigh of relief once the romper was on the bed. “Oh, Dylan, I’m sorry.” He picked Dylan up and held him to his chest, rubbing his back. “I’m so sorry.”   
  
John smiled. “You did fine, Sammy. A little awkward, but you’ll get better at it.”  
  
Dean opened the bathroom door, walking out into the room. “How do I look?” he asked, giving a small spin.   
  
John glanced up at him before his eyes filled with horror. He stood up off the bed and examined Dean’s chest. “How’d you get this scar?” he asked, glancing down at the scar on the left side of Dean’s chest.  
  
Dean glanced down then just shrugged. “Fire poker. Nasty people, those rednecks. It’s fine.”  
  
John sighed then finally nodded, taking his word for it.  
  
“Dylan ready to go yet?” Dean asked, looking around John.  
  
Sam shook his head. “No, not yet. I’m going to get into my shorts,” he said, standing up off the bed. He handed Dylan to Dean carefully then grabbed his bag. “You can finish dressing him.” He walked into the bathroom, closing the door.  
  
“Alright,” Dean said, walking over to the bed. “You gonna go swimming, Dad?” he asked, glancing back at his father.  
  
John shrugged. “I might have to get in, who knows. I’ll change after Sammy does. Speaking of Sammy, you might want to teach him how to get Dylan dressed sometime.”  
  
Dean nodded, pulling the pants on Dylan’s legs even as they kicked. “Yeah, I noticed that. He’ll get better at it. Won’t he Dylan? Yes he will, yes he will.” He blew a raspberry on Dylan’s stomach before he finished pulling the shirt on. “Oh, just gorgeous, Dylan. You are going to get _all_ the little girl babies on the beach.” He lifted Dylan up and glanced up at John, smiling. “Thanks for driving us today, Dad.”  
  
John shrugged. “Sam’s birthday. Least I could do.” They both glanced up when they heard the bathroom door open and the lights flick off.  
  
Sam stepped out, wearing his Stanford sweater over a t-shirt and black shorts with purple flames. “Well, I’m ready.”  
  
Dean just stared at Sam’s sweater, trying not to laugh.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Be care _ful_!” Sam snapped, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand. “Dean! Be careful!”  
  
“He’s fine!” Dean yelled back, grasping onto Dylan’s hand to make him wave up at Sam, who was still on the beach. “Whee!” he squealed, spinning around in the water.   
  
Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head, picking up his book. He soon glanced up again though, finding it hard to take his mind and eyes off Dean and Dylan. He sighed and looked over at John who was standing only ankle-deep in the water, keeping his eyes on Dean and Dylan also. He sighed again then pushed himself up on the hot sand, walking over to John. “Dylan makes him so happy,” he said quietly, glancing at his father.   
  
John nodded slowly, still watching Dean. “He makes you happy too.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam agreed softly. He wrapped his arms around himself, somehow still chilly despite his sweater and the warm weather. He took a deep breath and glanced at John again. “I know you’re leaving after today,” he said finally.  
  
John gave a sharp intake of breath before he nodded slowly.   
  
“I looked in your bedroom,” Sam explained, answering John’s unasked question. “I didn’t mean to, I-- I wasn’t snooping. I just peeked in and saw all your stuff on the dresser was gone. I’m sorry.”  
  
John shrugged. “Why are you sorry? Sam, it’s your apartment, not mine. I don’t care that you looked. I’m the one who should be sorry, I should’ve told you two.”  
  
“So what’s the game plan?” Sam asked, eyes squinting in the sun.  
  
John shrugged once more. “I don’t really know. I figured I’d get a cab early in the morning, so--”  
  
“So you wouldn’t have to say goodbye?” Sam finished. “Yeah, I know how that feels. I wanted to do it a couple times before I actually left. You’ll drive back with us and tell Dean. Once we get back, you can leave. Okay?”  
  
John nodded sharply. “Yes, sir.”  
  
Sam laughed and shook his head, patting John on the back. “Thank you for doing everything for us, Dad. Even the stuff that pissed me off when you did it, thank you for doing it. Thank you for understanding me and Dean and thank you for helping us with Dylan.”  
  
John looked up at Sam, smiling. “Sam, you’re my son. Dean is my son. Dylan is my grandson. These past few months there’s no place in the world I would’ve rather been, or anything else I would’ve rather done.”  
  
“So why are you leaving?” Sam asked, dropping his eyes, watching the water lap around his feet.  
  
“Just gotta move on,” John said simply, looking up at him. “I hunt, Sam. You two are old enough to take care of yourselves now, smart enough to take care of Dylan. Dean raised you well.”  
  
Sam nearly bit through his lip at that. “Don’t say that, Dad,” Sam told him, voice almost breaking. “Don’t-- that’s not true. I know that Dean did a lot for me, but you’re the one who raised me.”  
  
John nodded, reaching up to wipe at his eyes, clearing his throat. “Thank you for saying that.” He sniffled then cleared his throat again. “I think you’re missing out on all the fun,” John said, pointing to where Dean was now sitting in the water, letting the waves hit Dylan’s feet for the first time.   
  
“What about you?” Sam asked, waving when Dean smiled over at them. “I heard what you said to Dean the other day. ‘Don’t make the same mistakes I did’. Dylan’s your chance to make up for that. Don’t make the same mistakes again. Come on, be a Grampie.”  
  
“Okay,” John smiled, nodding. “On one condition.”  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”  
  
John glanced up at him. “At least take off your friggin’ sweater, it’s like seventy degrees out here,” he said, trying not to laugh. “You can keep the t-shirt on.”  
  
Sam smiled. “So demanding,” he joked, pulling his sweater off, tossing it the few feet onto his towel. He began walking over to Dean, the water almost too cold. “Hi, Dean,” he said, grinning down at Dean who was just sitting there, Dylan hitting his chest, fist clenching and unclenching.  
  
Dean looked up at him. “Hi, Sam. Hey Dad. What’s going on?”  
  
Sam shook his head then sat down next to Dean. He chuckled softly. “What are you doing?” he asked softly, leaning into Dean, looking at Dylan.  
  
“Just sitting,” Dean answered, glancing back up to John. “Dylan likes the water. We can take him in the pool now!”  
  
Sam grinned, reaching in to tickle Dylan, letting his finger get wrapped up in Dylan’s fist. “You like the water, Dylan? You like the water? Well, we’ll just have to use the pool more often then, won’t we? Yes, we will.” He leaned in a bit further, pressing a kiss to Dylan’s head.  
  
“I think I’m actually going to _swim_ ,” John said, gesturing to the entire ocean around them. “Try not to let anyone drown while I’m gone.” He gave Dylan a small wave, leaning into to give him his own kiss then dove under the surface.  
  
Sam sighed and leaned against Dean’s shoulder, watching Dylan. “I love you,” he said softly, looking up at Dean. He pressed a kiss to his shoulder, tasting the salty water.   
  
“I love you too, Sammy,” Dean said, turning his head to brush his lips against Sam’s forehead. He sighed and smiled, watching John swim in the water. He turned his head again and pressed his lips to Sam’s. “This is your day, Sammy. The big two-four.”  
  
Sam chuckled softly, shaking his head.   
  
“Next year’s the big two-five,” Dean continued on, ignoring Sam’s laugh. “And then--”  
  
“Shut up, Dean,” Sam interrupted, reaching up to smack Dean’s head. He lay back in the water, propped up by his elbows, water coming up to his collarbone, soaking through his t-shirt. “It’s nice out today,” he said, glancing over to Dean.  
  
Dean nodded, rubbing Dylan’s back. “Wanna get in the water, Dylan?” Dean asked softly, tilting his head down to blow a raspberry on Dylan’s shoulder. “Wanna get in the water?”  
  
“Don’t put his head under,” Sam told him, tilting his head back, letting the ends of his hair dip into the water. “Be careful.”  
  
“Oh, hush, Sam, he’ll be fine,” Dean assured him, getting up on his knees. Keeping one hand supporting Dylan’s head and one on his bottom, he began dipping Dylan into the water, getting his entire legs in the water. Dylan stuck his hand down, grabbing at the water and made a few small sounds, but didn’t start crying, as Sam had thought he would.  
  
“Can I get his diaper wet?” Dean asked, glancing back at Sam.  
  
Sam nodded. “I think they’re like, swim diapers or something. God knows. Dad picked them up.”  
  
“Jesus,” Dean muttered, glancing to where their father was now swimming back to them. “You think of everything, Dad!”  
  
John stood up out of the water, shaking water everywhere. “Well I know you Dean. I knew you’d be itching to put him in here sooner or later. And there is a pool at the apartment.”  
  
Dean smiled then dipped Dylan in the water further, going up above his belly-button. Dylan squealed and smacked his tiny fist against the water, kicking his legs. “It’s okay, Dylan,” Dean said softly. “It’s okay, we’re all here. It’s okay. Shh.” He kissed Dylan’s head and lifted him up out of the water, holding him up to his chest. “That was fun, huh, Dylan? Yes, it was.”  
  
John sat down in the water alongside Sam and Dean, reaching up to wipe the water off his forehead. He carefully took Dylan from Dean, cradling him. “You’re a big boy now, Dylan. Your parents didn’t even _see_ the ocean until Sammy was--”  
  
“Six,” Sam finished, pushing himself up. “And it was the Atlantic.” He stood up and looked around the water before glancing down. “Dad, can you watch Dylan for a second? Dean and I want to go swimming.”  
  
John nodded. “Of course.” He awkwardly stood up, having no hands to push himself up. “I’ll go put more sunscreen on him.”   
  
Sam and Dean smiled gratefully as John carried Dylan out of the water and over to their towels. “I’ll race ya,” Sam said, smiling at Dean.  
  
“To what?” Dean asked, looking around. “There’s no buoys or--” he was cut off by Sam’s dive under the surface. “Hey! Sam, no fair!” He groaned then dove under, swimming quickly. They both came up a few meters away, breath coming quickly. “I can barely touch,” Dean muttered, treading water.  
  
Sam laughed and wrapped his arms around Dean, holding him up, as his own feet could still touch the sand. “You’re so short,” Sam murmured into Dean’s neck, smiling against the skin.  
  
“Shut up,” Dean snapped, wrapping his legs around Sam’s waist. “This okay?” he asked, pulling back a bit to look Sam in the eye.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam said softly, smiling. “Love you,” he said, leaning in to give Dean a kiss.  
  
Dean sighed and wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck, pulling him in. “Love you,” he said back, glancing towards the beach and their towels. “I’m too heavy, aren’t I?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “God Dean, we’re in the water. You weigh like, ten pounds. Now just quiet down.” He sighed and pulled Dean in closer. “Love you,” he said again, pressing a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “Love you so much.” He kissed him again.  
  
“I know, Sammy,” Dean said, tucking his head under Sam’s chin. “I love you too.”  
  
John sighed, gently rubbing the sunscreen onto Dylan’s arms. “That is the cutest little hat you have on, Dylan,” he said quietly, glancing out to the water. “Who bought you that hat? Did Grampie buy you that hat? Did I buy you that hat?” He gave Dylan a kiss and finished wiping the lotion in. “Yes, Grampie did.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
John pulled onto the ramp, glancing into his rear view then his side view mirrors. “You two are a lot quieter this time around,” he observed, glancing over to Dean.   
  
Dean nodded and shrugged, glancing back at Sam. “Had a long day yesterday.”  
  
“And with Dylan crying all last night,” Sam continued, “we’re just tired.” As if on cue, he yawned loudly, arms and legs stretching as much as they could.  
  
John nodded understandingly. He glanced in the mirror back at Sam, who was watching him expectantly. “Dean, I…” he took a deep breath and started again, “I’m leaving when we get back to Anaheim.”  
  
Dean didn’t say anything right away, but his entire body went tense and Sam could see Dean practically gnawing a hole through his lip. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah, you said a couple days ago, that you’d be leaving.”  
  
John nodded. “Yup, I did. I know that this is probably a bit sooner than you thought, but--”  
  
Dean shook his head, shrugging. “No big deal,” he said softly, swallowing hard. “We already talked about this Dad.”  
  
“Dean, don’t--” Sam began, but Dean just cut him off.  
  
“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean gritted angrily and he wiped furiously at his eyes, clearing his throat. “You’ve been waiting for him to leave since day one.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Oh, give it up, Dean. Five days ago you were all, ‘I understand why he’s doing it. He has to go. He’ll still visit’. Why the change Dean? Reality finally hit? Maybe I don’t seem as stupid now.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “I didn’t call you stupid, Sam! And he didn’t say he was leaving five days after he friggin’ told us!” He turned to John. “You lied to us!”  
  
“I did not lie to you!” John told him, hitting his hand against the steering wheel. “Come on, Dean. Sam’s right. You said you were okay with it.”  
  
“Yeah well, maybe I lied,” Dean muttered, slouching down in his seat. He rolled his eyes and changed the radio station, Metallica filling the car. He just stared out the window, arms crossed.   
  
Sam just sighed and shook his head, looking at John in the mirror. He shrugged and shook his head again before looking down at Dylan, picking up his rattle.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Home sweet home,” John murmured, pulling to a stop in the parking garage. He sighed then cringed when Dean slammed the car door, storming away from the car. He glanced back at Sam, who just had a sad smile on his face. “I should be--”  
  
“ _Don’t_ leave,” Sam commanded, climbing out of the car. “Watch Dylan, I’ll be right back.” He rushed after Dean and managed to catch him before he got into the stairwell. “Dean, do not go up those stairs,” he snapped, pushing the door closed. “Get back there and say goodbye to our father.”  
  
Dean shook his head and tried to pull the door open again but Sam just slammed it shut, again. “Sam, let me go. He lied, he said he would stay.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “He said he was leaving. Dean, he said he was leaving,” he said softly, trying to calm Dean down. “Dean, go say goodbye. Don’t let him leave without that. I went four years without talking to him, don’t let that happen to you.”  
  
Dean sighed and leaned against the door, closing his eyes. “I don’t want him to leave. I’ve never lived without him.”  
  
“I know,” Sam said gently, leaning in to brush his lips against Dean’s forehead. “But it’s going to be okay. Everything will be okay, if you say goodbye. Please, Dean. If not for him, or for me, do it for Dylan. If Dad thinks you’re mad at him he’s never going to come around and then Dylan grows up without his grandfather.”  
  
Dean sighed again then pushed himself off the door, walking by Sam. “Come on then,” he said softly, walking back into the parking garage. He began biting his lip and stopped walking before he got too close to John, who was taking Dylan’s carrier out of the back seat. “Dad,” he said quietly, taking another step.  
  
John looked up in surprise and set Dylan’s carrier on the ground. “Sam does good work,” he joked quietly, smiling.  
  
Dean nodded. “Ye-- yeah. He … he said I should say goodbye, so--” he glanced back at Sam. “Here I am.”  
  
John nodded slowly. “O-- okay then.” He shifted awkwardly on his feet, before Dean finally rushed him, pulling him into a hug.  
  
“I’ll miss you,” Dean said, face buried in John’s jacket. He could feel his tears starting again but this time he didn’t stop them, just squeezed his eyes shut. “Thank you for everything,” he said, sniffling. “I’ll miss you, Dad.”  
  
John took a deep breath and nodded, patting Dean’s back. “I’ll miss you too, son.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 5  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter  
**Summary:** Sam and Dean realize Dylan has a fever, of one hundred and two  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

 

**_one month and eighteen days old_**  
  
Sam sighed as he sat down on the couch next to Dean, settling in against him.   
  
“What’s going on?” Dean asked, glancing over to Sam.  
  
Sam just shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know. Dylan didn’t seem too interested in eating.”  
  
Dean snorted. “Sam, faced with your man boobs, I know _quite_ a few people who would lose their appetite.” He laughed at his own joke and turned back to the television.   
  
“Dean, shut up,” Sam muttered, jabbing Dean in the ribs with his elbow.   
  
Dean winced and dropped his hand to rub at his side. “Maybe he’s just not hungry, you think about that?”  
  
“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, he-- he seemed fine,” Sam admitted.  
  
“Well, that’s good then,” Dean said, nodding slowly. “He’s probably just not hungry.” He sighed then changed the channel. “God. There is like, _nothing_ on, on Sunday mornings … except all this churchy stuff. Too bad we aren’t more religious, we’d be freakin’ set.” He pushed himself up off the couch, going into the kitchen. “What do you want for breakfast?”  
  
“What are you having?” Sam called, going through the channels.  
  
“Toaster strudels,” Dean answered. “You want?”  
  
Sam pretended to gag loudly. “God no. Those things make me sick. I will have some of the icing though.”  
  
Dean snorted again. “Pfft. Yeah right. I eat the strudel, I deserve the icing.” He closed the freezer then opened the refrigerator. “We’ve got bagels. You want?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Sam replied. “Cream cheese on mine, please.” He slouched down in his seat and his head lolled over to one side. “You were right about nothing being on. Gah.” He sighed then yawned loudly, stretching his arms above his head.   
  
Dean popped his toaster strudel in the toaster then poured himself a glass of orange juice. After taking a sip, he heard Dylan crying in the bedroom. “I think he’s hungry now!” Dean called, setting his glass on the counter then walking down the hall.  
  
Sam groaned and pushed himself up off the couch, following Dean down the hall. “He couldn’t’ve been hungry when I was down there?” He sighed and walked into the bedroom, where he saw Dean cradling Dylan. “Well, give him here then.”  
  
“I thought you said he seemed fine,” Dean said softly, glancing over at Sam.  
  
“I did,” Sam replied, walking over to the bed, sitting down beside. “He did. Why, what’s wrong?”  
  
“He’s warm,” Dean told him, holding him up to his chest, rubbing his back gently. “I think he’s got a fever.”  
  
“What?” Sam asked, eyes going wide. “What do you mean a fever?”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “A fever, Sam. As in … he has a fever,” Dean said, not sure how more obvious to make it.  
  
“Are you sure?” Sam asked. “Maybe-- maybe he’s just a little warm. He didn’t feel like he had a fever two minutes ago.”  
  
Dean sighed then stood up off the bed, going to Dylan’s diaper bag. He opened one of the pockets and pulled out a thermometer. “Alright Dill Pickle, just stay still, ‘kay baby?” He sat back down and placed the thermometer in Dylan’s ear. “Only for a little bit, I promise.” He glanced down at his watch.  
  
“Should I call a doctor or something?” Sam asked, standing up.  
  
“He doesn’t have a doctor, Sam,” Dean reminded him. “He doesn’t have anything. Not even a birth certificate.”  
  
Sam crossed his arms across his chest and took a deep breath. “He’s going to be okay, right?” he asked finally, looking over at Dean.  
  
“I’m sure,” Dean assured him. “Babies get fevers all the time. Well, okay, that might’ve just been you. And come on, you had a fever yourself, like what, six months ago?”  
  
Sam just gaped at Dean. “I don’t weigh seven pounds,” Sam said pointedly. “How much longer?” he asked, glancing at Dean’s watch. He sighed then sat back down on the bed, taking a deep breath. “He’s going to be fine,” he said to himself.  
  
“Maybe it’s not even a fever,” Dean suggested. “Maybe he’s just warm from you holding him or something. We’ll probably just have to take some of his clothes off. Gonna be fine,” Dean said softly, making sure the thermometer was still in Dylan’s ear. “Yes you are, yes you are.”   
  
Dylan reached up and began pulling on his ear, before trying to grab at the thermometer.   
  
Dean shook his head. “No, no, Dylan. Keep that in. Gotta keep that in so we can find out what’s wrong with you.” He sighed then stayed silent, waiting for it to go off. “Oh, Dylan, let’s see what--” he stopped talking as he read the number.  
  
“What does it say?” Sam asked, turning to Dean. “Is he okay?”  
  
“One hundred and two,” Dean said softly, glancing down at Dylan. “Christ,” he muttered, dropping the thermometer and picking Dylan up, holding him to his chest. “He’s sweaty,” he said, glancing to Sam. “He’s sick.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Okay. So now what do we do? You’re right, he doesn’t have a doctor. He doesn’t have anything. Or anybody.”  
  
“He has us,” Dean reminded him. “We’ll just … we’ll take him to the hospital, or something. The ER. We can do that.”  
  
Sam nodded again. “Well let’s go now,” he said quickly, turning to move.   
  
“Sam, you _have_ to calm down,” Dean said softly, reaching out to grab Sam’s hand. “Us freaking out isn’t going to help him right now, okay? It’s just a fever. Which is just an infection or something, right? The doctors can fix this easy.”  
  
Sam sniffled and nodded. “Okay.” He nodded again, looking around the room. “He’s going to be okay. He’s a Winchester, we’re always okay.”  
  
Dean nodded, leaning in to press a kiss to Sam’s temple. “Sam, just be calm, okay? That angry, demanding Sam from Nebraska and Missouri isn’t going to help Dylan here. You can’t get angry. Dylan’s just a baby and babies get sick.”  
  
Sam nodded understandingly and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “I didn’t let you die and I’m not letting him go either.”  
  
“Sam, we’re going to take him to the hospital. They’ll make him better,” Dean assured him. “We’ll be home tonight.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean sighed and looked around at all the other sick and hurt people there. “They’re never going to help Dylan, we just got--”  
  
“Hey, doc!” Sam yelled, waving one hand over at him. “It’s our son. Our baby. He’s got a fever of one hundred and two.”  
  
The doctor walked over to him, examining Dylan in Dean’s arms. “How old is he?”  
  
“Just a month,” Dean answered, glancing back at Sam, a look of disbelief on his face.   
  
“With a temperature that high?” the doctor asked. “Okay, come on. It’s a good thing you brought him in now, any higher and … well, it’s a good thing you’ve brought him in now. May I see him?”  
  
Sam swallowed hard and watched as Dean handed Dylan over to the doctor.  
  
“What’s his name?” the doctor asked, pressing his hand to Dylan’s forehead.  
  
“Dylan,” Dean answered, smiling down at Dylan as he looked around. “Hi, Dill Pickle. Hi.”  
  
“Help him,” Sam finally spoke to the doctor, words coming out a bit angrier than he had meant.  
  
The doctor looked up at Sam as if noticing him for the first time. “We’re going to do our best.”  
  
Sam nodded, a small smile of thanks and apology gracing his features. “Okay,” he said softly and shuffled even closer to Dean, trying to get his anger to stay in. “They’re going to do their best,” he said to Dean, as if Dean hadn’t heard the doctor when he had said it.  
  
Dean smiled back at Sam then smiled at the doctor. “We … we don’t know what’s wrong, but I knew that someone that young shouldn’t have a fever that high.”  
  
The doctor nodded. “I’m going to get the pediatrician,” he told them, handing Dylan back over to Dean. “He’ll come and get you. What’s your last name?”  
  
“Winchester,” Dean answered, pressing his hand to Dylan’s forehead again. “Shit,” he muttered. “Can you uh, hurry?”  
  
The doctor nodded again then walked away, disappearing into the rush and bustle of the ER.  
  
Sam stepped back, away from Dean and sat down in the first empty seat he could find, eyes blank and staring straight ahead, nibbling on his bottom lip. “Why aren’t they doing anything?” he demanded angrily, lifting his head when Dean took the seat beside him.  
  
“Sam, that doctor’s going to get the other doctor,” Dean pointed out, “they’re doing something. Dylan is going to be okay. It’s just a fever.”  
  
Sam shook his head and slouched down in his seat, yawning loudly and reaching up to rub at his eyes. “Dean, our son is sick.” He looked over at Dean who was rubbing Dylan’s back. “Shouldn’t you be scared?”  
  
“Sam, being scared isn’t going to help him,” Dean answered, “and he needs our help right now. Think about how he feels; a fever that high. He’s sweaty, hasn’t eaten. We need to do everything to make him feel better and getting upset isn’t going to help him.”  
  
Sam groaned then stood and began pacing in front of Dean. “You’re not supposed to be this calm,” he gritted, dropping his head, watching his feet. “Why am I the only one who cares?”  
  
“Sam, I don’t have time to deal with you and _your_ issues and make sure Dylan is taken care of,” Dean told him. “I do care. Just calm down, please?”  
  
“Mr. Winchester?” a doctor asked, walking over to them.  
  
“Yes?” Sam and Dean asked together.  
  
The doctor smiled politely then extended his hand. “I’m Doctor Kelly.”  
  
“Dean,” Dean smiled back, but didn’t extend his hand, as he was holding onto Dylan.  
  
“Sam,” Sam said softly, dropping his eyes back to the ground, but he shook Dr. Kelly’s hand anyway.  
  
“I’m head of the pediatrics here, in the ER,” Dr. Kelly told them, even though they had both already guessed. “Would you two follow me? I’ve got an exam room for your son, there.”  
  
Sam stepped back and let Dean follow directly behind the doctor, arms crossed in front of him. “How are you going to find out what’s wrong with him?”   
  
Dr. Kelly opened the curtain and walked in; closing it behind them after Dean and Sam had stepped in. “Well, why don’t you tell me what his symptoms are? Other than the fever, of course.”  
  
“He won’t eat,” Sam began. “He likes eating, usually. And-- and he’s sweaty, or clammy, or something. I don’t know,” he finished, shaking his head. “He _has_ to get better though. He’s our son.” He gave a slight smile to the doctor then sat down on the bed, taking Dylan from Dean. He pressed a kiss to Dylan’s head.  
  
“I’m going to give him children’s acetaminophen,” Dr. Kelly told them, “after I take a more accurate temperature reading.” He grabbed a thermometer and turned to Sam. “Can you hold him up a little for me, please?”  
  
Sam held Dylan up against his chest, on his lap, facing outward. He rubbed Dylan’s stomach softly as the doctor placed the thermometer in his ear. Dylan squirmed in Sam’s arms and his face crumpled as he began to cry, but Sam and Dr. Kelly made sure the thermometer stayed in his ear.   
  
Dean sighed and began pacing around slightly, waiting for the thermometer to beep. “So after the acetaminophen, then what? We wait and see if his temperature goes down?”  
  
Dr. Kelly nodded. Pressing his hand to Dylan’s forehead, he looked up at Dean. “You’ll stay here, I’ll check in, in about an hour and if the fever has gone down, everything should be okay.” The thermometer beeped and Dr. Kelly pulled it out and examined it. “One hundred and three.”  
  
“He’s getting warmer?” Dean shrieked. “What the hell?”  
  
“I’ll give him the acetaminophen, you try and feed him,” Dr. Kelly told them. “It’ll be harder for him to get better if he won’t eat, or if he’s uncomfortable. Hopefully the acetaminophen will lower his temperature enough for him to be comfortable.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Did you bring a bottle?” Sam asked, rocking Dylan back and forth.  
  
Dean looked up at him and shook his head. “I never even thought. Can’t you--”  
  
“What if someone comes in?” Sam interrupted. “How are we supposed to make him feel better if we can’t even feed him? I should’ve …” he swallowed hard. “This is all my fault.”  
  
Dean sighed and sat down on the bed beside Sam. “Sam, this is not your fault. I should’ve brought the bottle.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Whatever he caught, whatever is wrong with him, it’s my fault. I’m his _mother_. I mean, I’m the one who carried him for nine months,” he finished that sentence softly. “I mean, he-- what he eats, it’s from me. I gave him something, or something. Maybe when _I_ got sick, I gave it to him.”  
  
“Sam, I don’t even think that’s possible,” Dean said softly. “Sam, he is just a sick little boy. It’s not your fault, it’s not my fault. Okay? The doctors are doing what they can.” He sighed and leaned his head against Sam’s shoulder, smiling sadly as Dylan squirmed uncomfortably in Sam’s arms. “I’m going to go find a coffee machine.” He stood up off the bed. “Do you want one?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Maybe you can run home or something, get him a bottle?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, if you want me to.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead. “I won’t be long, I promise.”  
  
Sam nodded before he yawned loudly. “Just hurry.”  
  
“Bye,” Dean said, leaning down to kiss Dylan’s forehead. He frowned when his forehead still felt warm, but just smiled and turned, leaving the exam room.   
  
Sam swallowed as he watched Dean leave, and then looked back down to Dylan, who was still obviously uncomfortable. “You’re giving us quite a scare, Dill Pickle. I hope you feel better soon, ‘cause then we can go home and you can eat and I can stop worrying. Your daddy’s been sick before. Your daddy was going to die before. A couple times actually.” Dylan gave a small cry of pain and began to cry again. “Shh, Dylan, it’s okay. You’re going to get better, this isn’t going to be like those times.” He sighed as he felt Dylan began to squirm in his arms. “Shh, Dylan, it’s okay, calm down.” He finally looked down at Dylan again and nearly screamed. His eyes had almost completely rolled back into his head and drool was running down his chin, lips turning blue. “Help!” Sam yelled, jumping up off the bed. “Someone, please, help!”  
  
It wasn’t more than a couple seconds before there was a doctor at Sam’s side, taking Dylan from him. “What happened?” the doctor asked, glancing over to Sam as she laid Dylan down on the bed.   
  
Sam just shook his head, watching as Dylan finally stopped shaking.   
  
“Sir? What happened?” the doctor demanded.  
  
“He-- he had a fever,” Sam answered, looking into the doctor’s eyes. “What’s going on? Why is he … what’s going on?”  
  
The doctor just sighed, shining her penlight in Dylan’s eyes as the blue disappeared from Dylan’s face. “He had a seizure.”  
  
Sam let out a broken cry and fought to keep his tears in. “What?” he asked as the tears filled his eyes. He blinked rapidly then dropped his head, sobs finally coming. “Why? Why would that happen?”  
  
“The fever,” the doctor explained, listening to Dylan’s breathing then his heartbeat. “It’s called a febrile seizure, caused by high fevers.”  
  
Sam rubbed at his eyes, trying to stay calm. “You can’t let him die,” he demanded, watching the doctor.  
  
“He won’t,” the doctor assured him. “Who is his doctor?”  
  
“Kel-- Kelly,” Sam said. “Doctor Kelly. He gave him something when we came in, something for the fever. Is that what did this? Did that doctor--”  
  
“Acetaminophen?” the doctor asked, picking Dylan up.   
  
Sam nodded furiously, hot tears streaming down his face. “I think so. Something like that. It-- it-- I don’t know.”  
  
“Are you alone here, sir?” the doctor asked, wiping Dylan’s drool from his mouth.  
  
Sam nodded. “His father left. Went home, we forgot a bottle. He’ll be back soon. I think. I don’t remember. Dean said something about coffee.” He wiped at his cheeks. “I need-- I need something to drink. I need to catch my breath. I need--” he stopped talking and he turned around, quickly leaving the exam room, leaving Dylan with the doctor.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean dropped his coffee in the garbage can then made his way over to the exam room, pulling open the curtain. “Hey Sam--” he cut himself off when he realized Sam wasn’t in the room. It was just Doctor Kelly and a female doctor Dean didn’t recognize, holding onto Dylan. “Anybody seen Sam?”  
  
The female doctor looked up. “You’re Dean?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah. Where’s Sam?”  
  
“Your son had a seizure,” Doctor Kelly told him. “Caused by the high fever. It’s dropped, but not enough. Not yet.”  
  
“A seizure?” Dean repeated. “What the hell? A seizure? What, he’s like epileptic now?” He set Dylan’s diaper bag on the bed and took Dylan from the female doctor. “Where is Sam?”  
  
“He left,” the female doctor replied. “When he had the seizure, I came in. Sam reacted … badly and left. We don’t know where he went.”  
  
“So wait, why did he have a seizure?” Dean asked, turning to Doctor Kelly. “Was it that damn methamphetamine or whatever the hell you gave him? Why the fuck aren’t you helping him?” he yelled, stepping towards Doctor Kelly.  
  
“Acetaminophen,” Doctor Kelly corrected, staying calm, “and no. That acetaminophen is the only reason that your son’s fever has gone down. We don’t know what’s causing the fever, but we _are_ helping.”  
  
Dean bit his lip and looked down at Dylan. “I have to feed him,” he said quietly. “I had to go get his bottle. I should feed him.”  
  
Doctor Kelly nodded. “We’ll leave you alone. I also suggest finding Sam. I’d look in the chapel first.”  
  
Dean nodded his thanks then sat down on the bed, opening up Dylan’s diaper bag, watching as the doctor’s left the room. “Hi Dylan,” he said softly, shifting Dylan is in his arms. “Let’s see if we can’t get some food in you, huh? And then we can find Mommy and everyone’s going to be fine.” He picked up the bottle and placed the nipple at Dylan’s mouth, waiting for Dylan to take it in. “Come on, Dylan. Eat for Daddy. Eat up, this is good.” He smiled when Dylan’s mouth opened and he began drinking from the bottle. “Thank you, Dylan,” he said softly. “Please get better.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam bowed his head, folding his hands on top of the pew in front of him. “I thought I did this enough, but I guess I don’t. Or maybe-- maybe I used to pray for the wrong things. Maybe that’s why this has happened to Dylan.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know why this is happening. And I don’t know how I can stop it. But please, God, just let him live. Make him better, like you’ve made Dean better before.” He reached up to wipe at his eyes. “I promise to be a better person, to do good things, and Dean does too. Just make him better. Please God.” He lifted his head and cleared his throat when he heard the door behind him open. “Amen,” he finished. “Dean. How’d you find me?”  
  
Dean shrugged and walked in, taking a seat beside Sam. “Doctor said it’d be the first place he’d check. What are you doing?”  
  
“Praying,” Sam answered, turning back to face the front. “Didn’t think it would hurt.”  
  
Dean sighed and nodded. “Sam, our son needs us right now. Praying isn’t what he needs.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “He had a seizure,” he said softly, dropping his head again.  
  
“I know,” Dean said, sliding on the pew closer to Sam, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. “But it wasn’t your fault.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “I was the one holding him. He didn’t have a seizure when you were there.”  
  
“The doctors are testing him right now,” Dean informed him. “They’re going to know why he’s sick. Just come back to his room with me, be with him.”  
  
Sam wiped at his eyes and shook his head again. “I’m going to stay here. I’m going to pray.”  
  
Dean cleared his throat and lifted his arm off Sam, dropping it back down by his side. “Okay. You want to pray, stay here and pray.” He stood up and looked down at Sam. “But if he …” he swallowed hard, “dies, then you’re just going to blame yourself even more for not being there.”  
  
Sam took a deep breath and lifted his head, slouching down in the pew. “Just go.”  
  
Dean sighed and turned, walking out of the chapel. He shook his head and wiped at his eyes, seeing the sign for the men’s room. He walked in and checked the couple stalls, sighing in relief when he realized he was alone. He walked over to the sink and leaned down, splashing cold water on his face. “Fuck,” he gritted, taking a deep breath, feeling sick to his stomach. “Stay cool, Dean, gotta stay cool.” He took another breath and splashed more water on his face. He stood up, wiping at his face. He shook his head, looking up at the ceiling. “Come on, Sammy, get your act together. This isn’t helping anybody.” Just thinking about Sam, sitting in the church, doing nothing and Dylan with the doctors and Dean could feel anger growing in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed and thought of his father leaving just a few days before and he quickly brought his fist back, smashing it into the mirror.  
  
Cracks radiated from his fist and a couple of small pieces of mirror fell onto the sink and counter. Dean’s eyes filled with his tears and his head dropped, along with his fist. “Fuck,” he muttered. He examined his fist then wiped at his eyes, clearing his throat. He stepped back from the mirror and hurried out of the bathroom, down the halls, going back to Dylan’s exam room. He gave a half-smile to the doctors as he walked in. “I found him,” he said softly, shaking his hand from the pain.  
  
“Where is he?” Doctor Kelly asked, keeping his hand on Dylan. “And what happened to your hand?”  
  
“Praying,” Dean said quietly, almost ashamed that Sam wasn’t there. “And I uh, I kinda … punched something. It’s fine though, been a lot worse.” He sighed then sat down on the bed, looking down at Dylan who was watching him, feet kicking and hands tugging on his ears. “Don’t worry, Dylan. Daddy’s here. Daddy’s not going to leave you.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam sighed and looked around, all alone in the chapel. He cleared his throat then stood up, walking to the door of the chapel. He took a deep breath then opened the door, walking back into the hospital and made his way to Dylan’s exam room, nervous and scared. He walked into the room and cleared his throat softly. “Hi,” he said quietly.  
  
“They know what’s wrong with him,” Dean said, turning to Sam, a grin on his face. “I was just going to get you.”  
  
Sam’s eyes opened wide and he grinned brightly. “They-- they do? Will he be okay? What’s wrong with him?”  
  
“It’s just an ear infection,” Dean told him. “They said how the fluid can’t drain as well in baby’s ears and so he got an ear infection, which caused the fever.”  
  
“Which caused the seizure,” Sam finished, still smiling. “Thank you, God,” he said softly. He took a step forward, pulling Dean in for a hug. “Our baby’s okay,” he murmured into Dean’s neck, pulling him in as tightly as he could. “Dylan’s okay.” He pulled back and cleared his throat, wiping at his eyes. “How’d they find out?”  
  
“Apparently, we didn’t tell them that he was pulling on his ear,” Dean answered.   
  
“I didn’t even notice,” Sam said quietly.  
  
“Yeah, me either,” Dean admitted. “Doctor Kelly noticed when he came in to check again, checked his ears. It’s just an ear infection. They’re going to give him antibiotics. He’s going to be fine.” He leaned in, giving Sam a kiss. “He’s going to be okay.”  
  
Sam sighed then stepped back from Dean, smiling down at Dylan who was in the small crib they had brought in. “Hi Dylan,” he said softly, leaning down to pick Dylan up. “Hi Dylan.” He pressed a kiss to Dylan’s cheek and closed his eyes, tears leaking out from under his eyelids. “I love you.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Look Dill Pickle, look who’s home,” Dean said, lifting Dylan up a bit to look around the apartment. “I think it’s us. Isn’t it good to be back? Be a good boy and we can take you in the pool sometime.”  
  
Sam shrugged off his jacket and dropped it on a chair, going into the kitchen. “I’m hungry,” he muttered, going to the refrigerator.  
  
“And here’s Grampie’s chair,” Dean said, walking Dylan around the apartment. “Daddy’s television. Mommy’s coffee table. Isn’t it good to be home? I bet you want to see your crib, don’t you? Come on; let’s go see your bedroom.” He walked down the hall and into the master bedroom, taking Dylan to his crib. “Is that your bed? Whose bed is that, whose bed is that? Yours, Dylan, that’s right.” He leaned down a bit and let Dylan grab at the crib. “Dylan, you’re a very big boy now. You made it through your first sickness. Do you know what that means?”  
  
“I don’t even know what that means,” Sam said, walking into the bedroom.  
  
“Maybe Dylan needs his own bedroom now,” Dean said, turning to Sam. “I think he needs a nursery. A room of his own.”  
  
Sam sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “But he’s so young,” he said finally. “Are you sure? What if he gets sick again and we can’t hear him cry and then--”  
  
“Sam, I said new room, not new apartment,” Dean interrupted. “We’re just moving his crib. It’s not that big of a deal.”  
  
Sam just shook his head. “Dean, we didn’t even notice that he was pulling on his ear. Something he’s _never_ done before and we didn’t even notice. We can’t put him in a new room now. We barely know our son!”  
  
“Sam, he pulled on his ear!” Dean said, shaking his head. “We’re not supposed to notice that! We’re parents, not perfect! We made one mistake--”  
  
“And he had a seizure,” Sam reminded him. “He could’ve died. I’m not letting him out of my sight ever again.”  
  
“Oh Christ,” Dean muttered, turning on the spot, not sure whether to set Dylan down in his crib or not. “Sam, he-- you’re going to have to let him out of your sight sometime. He’s going to get older you know. Grow up?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “In Nebraska, I left you and you almost died. At the theatre, I got in the car and you almost died. I didn’t pay attention to Dylan and he almost died. I’m not good at … this.”  
  
Dean studied Sam for a moment before walking quickly into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.  
  
“Dean!” Sam said in surprise, going to the door. He knocked lightly. “Dean, this isn’t funny, come back out.”  
  
“Sam, you have to learn,” Dean said through the door and Sam could hear Dylan cooing. “Just because you’re not watching him doesn’t mean something bad will happen.”  
  
Sam tapped his foot nervously on the carpet, knocking again. “Dean, please? Just bring him out.”  
  
“No, Sam,” Dean told him.  
  
“Then just-- ple-- please be careful with him?” Sam pleaded. He leant against the door, trying to press his ear to the wood. “Dean? Is he okay?”  
  
“Mommy’s crazy,” Dean said softly. “Dill Pickle, your mommy is insane.”  
  
“Dean?” Sam repeated. “Dean? Please, bring him out.” He sighed then reached up, brushing his hair off his forehead. “Dean, you can’t do this. He is my son.”  
  
“He’s my son too,” Dean reminded him. He unlocked the door then opened it, looking at Sam in disbelief. Dylan, however, was smiling, green eyes bright. “Sam, we missed one thing. One thing in a whole world of everything. He’s a baby, babies do things. And I missed it too, okay? You don’t think I feel bad? We have to move on though. Please?”  
  
Sam sighed then finally nodded. “Okay,” he agreed softly, stepping out of the way for Dean to walk by. “So you don’t blame--”  
  
“God, Sam,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “Contrary to what I think you believe you’re not to blame for everything. You’re actually _not_ to blame for a lot of things.” He kissed the top of Dylan’s head then laid him down in his crib. He sighed then looked up at Sam, smiling softly. “Now, I have to go to work today. Are you going to be okay here with him?”  
  
Sam took a deep breath then swallowed hard. He looked behind Dean into Dylan’s crib, biting his lip. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine.”


	6. Chapter 6

**_one month and twenty-one days old_**  
  
Sam brought the juice up to his mouth, glancing up when Dean took his seat across the table. He took a large gulp of orange juice then set the cup down. “Long time to get the paper, Dean.”  
  
Dean shrugged, not even looking up from where he was reading. “Yeah well, there was a line.” Then he casually dropped a white flower on the table. “Happy Mother’s Day.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, but took the flower anyway. “Okay, A: I’ve decided I’m going to take part in the Father’s Day thing, not Mother’s Day. B: Mother’s Day was twenty days ago anyway, and C: why are you sucking up? Hand over the paper.”  
  
Dean finally looked up at him. “What? Sam I’m-- I’m reading here. You can’t just--” He rolled his eyes when Sam raised an eyebrow. “There’s nothing important in here.”  
  
Sam smirked. “Fine. Then you won’t mind letting me look at it for a sec. Dean, just give me the paper.”  
  
Dean sighed then finally, reluctantly handed it over. “Fine, but there’s nothing--”  
  
Sam flipped through the pages, trying to find something that he thought Dean would be hiding from him. He read silently to himself, glancing up every few seconds to watch Dean. “‘Fourth Man Killed In Jefferson.” He sighed then set the paper down in front of him. “What are you doing Dean?”  
  
Dean leaned over the table, grabbing the newspaper back. “I _was_ reading the paper.” He flipped it to the comics and started reading. “Shouldn’t you be watching Dylan?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.  
  
“I _am_ watching Dylan,” Sam snapped, glancing down to the carrier set on the ground by his feet. He stuck his tongue out at Dylan and waggled his fingers down at him, reaching down to rub Dylan’s stomach, “and he’s fine. Which he won’t be if his father ups and decides he needs to start hunting again!”  
  
Dean dropped the paper to his lap and leaned over the table. “A man was found mutilated on the side of the road, Sam. The fourth man to be found that way. People say they don’t think a human could have done it.”  
  
“And you think it was a werewolf and not just a really crappy police force,” Sam finished. “Dean, you’re not going to, wherever the hell Jefferson is. Wyoming, or-- or--”  
  
“Wisconsin,” Dean told him. “Come on, it’s not that far away and it won’t take that long. We go in, shoot some silver, bing bang--”  
  
“No,” Sam said flatly, glaring at Dean. “Dream on, Dean, because you’re not hunting. Not now, not with Dylan.” He picked up his glass and took another drink.   
  
Dean sighed and sat back down in his seat. He picked the paper up and dropped it in front of him. “Sam, it’s going to happen aga--”  
  
“You have a son, Dean,” Sam said, sitting up, “and we agreed, no more hunting!”  
  
“No, _you_ agreed no more hunting,” Dean replied. “You just assumed that we wouldn’t--”  
  
“Risk our lives anymore because we have a baby?” Sam finished. “Well, geez, _yeah_ Dean, I did. Dylan _needs_ us. There is no one _but_ us. It’s obvious Dad’s not going to give up hunting so we’re the only people he has. We die, that’s it. And sorry, but I’m not in the mood to piss off anymore demons when we have a baby!”  
  
Dean looked around the coffee shop, making sure no one was paying too close attention to their conversation. “Sam, this is what we do. This is what we were meant to do. Saving people--”  
  
“Hunting things,” Sam finished, nodding his head slowly. “I know, I’ve heard it all before. But Dean, you have to understand where I’m coming from here. Do you realize how many of our hunts have been close calls? How many times one of us could’ve died?”  
  
“So by that logic, we shouldn’t ever go to the movies again,” Dean pointed out.  
  
Sam took a deep breath and sighed, shaking his head lightly. “Dean, I’m not asking you not to Wisconsin, I’m telling you. You’re not going.”  
  
“No offense Sam, but you’re not Dad,” Dean smirked.  
  
Sam opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when Dylan began to cry. He sighed then reached down and unbuckled Dylan in the carrier, before he yawned loudly. “C’me here Dylan. ‘S’okay.” He yawned again as he picked Dylan up, standing him up on his knee, bouncing him lightly. Dylan’s head leaned against Sam’s shoulder but he continued to cry, even as Sam comforted him.  
  
“Are you okay?” Dean asked, listening to Sam yawn.  
  
Sam kept his next yawn in and nodded, rubbing Dylan’s back. “Just tired. Somehow, you manage to sleep through Dylan crying at night.” He straightened out Dylan’s shirt and pressed a kiss to his temple. “It’s nothing; I’m just a lighter sleeper than you are.” He looked back to Dylan, still rubbing his back. “Please stop crying Dylan, please. Mommy’s here, please stop crying. Please, shh. Please? For Mommy?” He took a deep breath and reached up to rub at his eyes. “Mommy’s tired, Dylan, stop crying.”  
  
“Give him a bottle,” Dean suggested quietly, not entirely sure Sam wanted his help right then.   
  
“He doesn’t need a bottle,” Sam snapped, glaring at Dean. “He’s not hungry. He doesn’t need his diaper changed and he’s not hungry.”  
  
“Then why exactly is he crying, Sam?” Dean asked, smirking. “Give him a bottle.”  
  
“He doesn’t need one!” Sam said again. He groaned and pushed his chair back from the table, standing up. “We’ll be outside; people are starting to look at us.” He made his way through the crowd of people to the door, pushing it open with his shoulder.” He sighed then began pacing back and forth, Dylan still crying in his ear. “Dylan, shh. Please, just shh. Mommy’s not feeling well right now and you need to shh.” He turned around when he heard the door open and Dean stepped out. “Dean, I can do this, I’m just a little tired.”  
  
“Sam, give him here,” Dean told him. “How about me and Dylan do something and you go home and sleep? You know you need it.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Dean, he needs to be with me, I’m his mother. Parents get tired and they all make it.”  
  
“They all let their husbands help,” Dean pointed out. “Sam, I can take care of him, even if we stay at the apartment. Me and Dyl can go swimming or just sit out on the balcony and you can sleep. I want to help. Let me hold him?” He stepped towards Sam, hands out.  
  
Sam finally nodded and handed Dylan over to him. It only took a few seconds before Dylan settled down in Dean’s arms. “Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me,” Sam muttered, leaning against the wall. He rolled his eyes then slouched down a bit, rubbing at his eyes. “That’s just great.” He walked past Dean, going back into the coffee shop.  
  
“Sam, wait!” Dean called after him, turning around. He sighed then glanced to Dylan, who had his hand up by his mouth, watching Dean. “Smooth move, Dylan.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean walked into the apartment, toeing off his shoes. “Sam, you awake?” he called, walking out of the entrance way. When Sam came bounding over, Dean hid the newspaper behind his back. “And here I thought you were tired.”  
  
Sam’s eyes filled with confusion. “That was like … what, a week ago?”  
  
Dean tried not to laugh. “That was like, two days ago. But I can see how you’d get confused. So I guess you’re sleeping better now.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Well, not-- not really. But kind of.” He leaned down and gave Dean a quick kiss before walking back into the kitchen. “I’ve started drinking coffee again.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Is that all? You seem a little … well let’s just say, I had this one friend in high school who did speed once.”  
  
Sam burst out laughing and walked over to the kettle, pouring himself another mug of coffee. “I’m fine. Believe me, it’s just coffee. Caffeine does a body good.”  
  
“Are nursing mothers supposed to drink coffee?” Dean asked, looking around the kitchen and living room. He walked over to the couch and dropped the paper behind one of the pillows. “So where’s Dylan?”  
  
“In his crib,” Sam answered, following Dean into the living room. “Maybe _he_ needs to start drinking coffee.”  
  
Dean cocked his head to one side, watching Sam in disbelief. “Sam, I think you’re hitting the java just a little _too_ hard there. Maybe you should ease yourself back into it. Maybe you should--”  
  
Sam reached out and playfully shoved Dean’s shoulder. “I’m fine,” he said again. “But seriously, I’ve been waiting to have a shower all day.” He thrust his mug into Dean’s hands. “Can you watch Dylan till I come back out?”  
  
“Uh … yeah,” Dean said, nodding slowly, “I’ll watch my own son.”   
  
“Thanks,” and Sam was off down the hall, humming to himself.  
  
Dean looked around suspiciously before bringing the mug up to his nose, sniffing it. “Smells like coffee,” he murmured, before taking a small sip. “Tastes like coffee.” He took another sip, realizing how much he had been craving coffee all day. “I think I should have a little more, just to make sure.” He walked into the kitchen and filled the mug back up again. He walked into the living room and grabbed the paper, sitting down at the dining table. It was a Wisconsin paper and had the front page headline, ‘Wolf Man Attacks Again’. He sighed and took a sip of coffee, reading the newspaper. He only made it through the first couple of paragraphs before Dylan erupted into cries from in the bedroom. “Shit,” he muttered, setting the mug and paper down on the table, jogging down the hallway to the bedroom. He flicked the lights on and walked over to the crib, a grin on his face. “Hi baby, hi.” He leant down and picked Dylan up, rubbing his back. “What’s wrong, what’s wrong? Have a nightmare? Shh, it’s okay, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s here.”  
  
Dylan just cried and cried, getting louder with every few seconds. Screeching and wailing, Dean held Dylan up against his chest, Dylan’s head on his shoulder. Dylan let out a scream and flailed his tiny fist, hitting Dean on the cheek.  
  
“Why would you do that, Dylan?” Dean murmured, going to Dylan’s diaper bag. He pulled out a bottle and held it up to Dylan’s mouth, waiting for him to take it in. “There ya go, that’s it.”   
  
Dylan’s cries finally silenced as he began sucking on the bottle.  
  
Dean sighed and walked out of the bedroom, going down the hall, singing softly to Dylan. “Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am free again. Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am clean again. However far away, I will always love you. However long I stay, I will always love you. Whatever words I say, I will always love you. I will always love you.” He continued on humming and walked over to the balcony doors, holding Dylan up to the window. “Look outside Dylan, look at it. It’s nice out, isn’t it?” Dean glanced down at Dylan, checking to see if his bottle was still in his mouth. “Want Daddy to take you swimming? Want to go in the pool? Look at the pool, Dyl, look at it.”  
  
Dylan flapped his arms and spit the bottle out of his mouth, a bit of formula dribbling down his chin. He gave a loud shriek and squirmed in Dean’s arms.  
  
Dean turned and set the bottle down on the table, holding Dylan up against his chest, patting his back to burp him. “Let’s just get that milk off ya there.” He grabbed a piece of paper towel and wiped Dylan’s face, smiling at Dylan. “Hi Dylan.” He leaned in and gave him an Eskimo kiss, Dylan flailing his hand again and hitting Dean upside the head. “Ow!” he joked, reaching up to rub at his temple. “What was that for Dylan? That hurt. You have to kiss it better.”  
  
Of course, getting a baby to give him a kiss wasn’t exactly the easiest thing he’s had to do and he just ended up pressing his head to Dylan’s mouth.   
  
“Aw, thanks Dill Pickle,” Dean smiled, giving Dylan a kiss of his own, “feels much better now. Let’s get you out of this shirt; you don’t need to wear a shirt.” He lay Dylan down on the table and gently pulled his little shirt off, much quicker and easier than when Sam dressed him. “Want me to take your pants off too? Huh? Do ya?” He carefully pulled Dylan’s pants down, careful not to catch on his diaper. He smiled down at Dylan then opened his mouth wide. “Look at you Dill Pickle! You’re almost naked!” He tickled Dylan’s stomach then grasped onto Dylan’s foot and lifted it, blowing a raspberry on the bottom. “Now Dylan, you don’t mind if Daddy goes on a little trip to Wisconsin, do you? No, you don’t. Mommy’s just crazy.” He grabbed the newspaper and showed Dylan the front page. “You want Daddy to help these people, don’t you?” He set the paper down then picked Dylan up, one hand on his bottom, the other supporting his head. “You’re going to be a hunter one day, Dylan,” Dean said softly. “Just like us.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean glanced over at Dylan, making sure he hadn’t rolled off his blanket then looked back down to the laptop and continued reading. “ _One of the first Wisconsin werewolf sightings occurred in 1936. A man named Mark Schackelman reportedly encountering a talking wolfman just east of Jefferson, Wisconsin on Highway 18. As he was driving along the road one evening, he spotted a figure digging in an old Indian mound._ ” He looked over to Dylan and picked up his rattle, shaking it down at him. “Here, play with this.” He picked up Dylan’s [ stuffed giraffe](http://i97.photobucket.com/albums/l236/lookwhatlovehasdone/stuffedgiraffechapter6graffe.jpg) and shook his at him. “Hi Dylan, my name is Raff. G. Raff.” He mooed down at him then realized he had no idea what sounds a giraffe made. “Just pretend it’s a cow, Dylan. Moo.” He let Dylan grab at the giraffe then went back to the laptop. “ _He looked closer and saw that the figure was a strange, hair-covered creature that stood erect and stood more than six feet tall. The face of the creature boasted a muzzle and features of both an ape and a dog. Its hands were oddly formed with a twisted thumb and three fully formed fingers. The beast gave off a putrid smell that was like decaying meat._ ” He murmured the rest to himself, scanning the page quickly.  
  
Suddenly, there was a knock at the balcony door and Dean jumped, glancing up.   
  
Sam opened up the door and stepped out onto the balcony, smiling down at Dylan. “What’s going on?”  
  
“What’s going on with you?” Dean asked, subtly exiting the internet windows open on the computer. He tilted his head up when Sam leaned down, giving him a kiss. “I thought you had drowned in the shower.”  
  
Sam sat down on the balcony, crossing his legs. He shrugged then shook his head, yawning loudly. “I got hungry. I have every intention of going back in there after you make me supper.”   
  
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “And what exactly do you want me to make you, your highness?”  
  
Sam shrugged and leaned in, giving Dean another kiss. “Something hot.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well well, hot just happens to be my specialty.” He kissed Sam again then closed the laptop. “I think someone’s in the mood,” he said in a sing-song voice.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “You always think someone’s in the mood. Just make me supper, Dean, it’s not that hard.”  
  
Dean groaned softly. “Why can’t you make _me_ supper?” he muttered, reaching over to rub Dylan’s stomach. “You’re the woman in this relationship.”  
  
Sam pushed himself up, walking back into the apartment. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that!” he called back, going into the living room.  
  
Dean opened the laptop back up then went to Google Maps. “Anaheim to Jefferson.” He clicked ‘get directions’ and waited a couple of seconds. He glanced up to the distance box and frowned slightly. “One day, eleven hours.” He sighed then glanced in the apartment, making sure Sam wasn’t in sight. Finally, he shrugged. “It’s really not _that_ far.” He looked up to Dylan. “Is it?”  
  
Dylan lifted his hands above his head, letting go of G. Raff, flinging it behind him.   
  
Dean sighed as the stuffed toy went off the balcony, and rubbed his eyes. “You’re a lot of work sometimes, Dylan.” He stood up then leaned down and picked up Dylan. He walked into the apartment. “Sam, I gotta run down to the pool for a second.” He walked over to the couch where Sam was lying down.   
  
Sam lifted his head and sighed, patting his chest. “Lay him down.”  
  
Dean carefully laid Dylan down on Sam’s chest, his head up by Sam’s chin. “Be right back,” he said quickly, going to the entrance way, slipping his feet in his sneakers. He opened up the door and made his way down the hallway, going to the stairwell. Holding onto the railing as is his ankle had begun to ache, he made his way down to the entrance to the courtyard. “Giraffe, giraffe,” he muttered to himself, trying to see where it had landed. Right under their balcony, he picked it up then glanced up to the balcony when he heard their door open. Sam stepped out, holding onto Dylan and leaned down, sitting down by the laptop. “Shit,” Dean muttered, realizing he hadn’t closed the Google Maps page.  
  
“What’s Daddy doing, Dylan, what’s Daddy doing?” Sam shifted the laptop in front of him then examined the page in front of him. “Jefferson,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Oof,” he groaned softly when Dylan’s foot pressed down on his groin. “No baby, not there.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Dylan’s head. “He didn’t really think I wouldn’t find out, did he? What a not very smart man he is. Dylan, your daddy isn’t a very bright person.”  
  
Dean opened the apartment door and slowly walked in, swinging the toy back and forth. “Uh, hey Sam,” he said, stepping to the balcony door.  
  
Sam looked up at him, glaring. “Uh, hey Dean,” he mocked.  
  
Dean sighed and his eyes dropped. “I uh, I got Dylan his toy,” he offered, lifting up the stuffed giraffe.  
  
Sam practically slammed the laptop shut (and that was even with trying to keep himself calm). He pushed himself up, still holding onto Dylan. “Great,” he muttered, pushing past Dean.  
  
“Oh Sam, come on!” Dean protested, turning to watch Sam go into the living room. “Christ,” he muttered. He turned and grabbed onto the laptop and Dylan’s blanket before closing the balcony door. “You didn’t really think I’d let it go, did you? This is what we do, Sam!” He set the laptop down on the coffee table.  
  
“Well I can’t do it anymore!” Sam yelled. “I just … I just can’t. Please, can we just forget about everything? No more demons, no more hunts. Please?”   
  
Dean took a deep breath and rubbed at his eyes, before finally, shaking his head. “It’s not up for discussion, Sam. I’m going to Jefferson.”  
  
Sam’s head dropped and he let out a tiny, broken sob, eyes squeezed shut to try and keep his tears in. He walked past Dean, handing Dylan over to him before going down the hall to their bedroom. He locked the door behind him then went over to the bathroom door, locking that one also.  
  
“Sam!” Dean yelled after him, going down the hall. He shifted Dylan in his arms and banged on the door. “Sam, don’t do this!”  
  
“Go to hell!” Sam screamed.  
  
Dean sighed. “Sam,” he said again, softly this time. “Sam, please come out? We can talk about this, I just … Sam, I know you can hear me. Come out. Unlock the door. Something.” He leaned his head against the door, taking deep breaths. “I need you, Sam. You’re my backup. Without you … please Sam, open up?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Sam muttered, climbing back into bed. He pulled the sheets up to his shoulders and wrapped his arms around Dean’s pillow, holding it close, letting his warm tears soak the pillowcase. “Just-- just fuck you.”  
  
“Sam, don’t make me kick this door in,” Dean threatened, even though he actually hadn’t kicked a door in since long before his ankle was broken and he really wasn’t in the mood to have an aching ankle for the rest of the day.   
  
“Go ahead!” Sam yelled, wiping at his eyes. “Just try it.”  
  
Dean stepped back from the door but looking at Dylan, he just couldn’t do it. “Sam,” he said, stepping back towards the door. “Just come with me. I won’t make you hunt. You can stay back at the motel, with Dylan. Sam, people are dying. I know that you don’t like hunting and you never have, just-- just this one more. I promise. I don’t _want_ to do this alone, Sammy. I want you to be there. With me.”  
  
“Please don’t go,” Sam pleaded softly, so softly that Dean could barely hear him through the door. “Please don’t risk it.”  
  
“It won’t be a risk, if you’re there to protect me, Sammy,” Dean said quietly. “Everything will be fine. Just open the door, we can talk about this.”  
  
“I don’t want you to go,” Sam repeated, but he sat up anyway, the sheets falling off him.  
  
“Let me in, Sammy,” Dean said again, hand on the doorknob, Dylan almost asleep in his arms.   
  
Sam swallowed hard and swung his legs off the bed, pillow still wrapped up in his arms. He walked to the door and had his hand on the knob. “Dean …” he said quietly, but before he could unlock the door, his head was filled with a blinding pain, skull pounding. He gasped and dropped the pillow, grabbing at his head. He dropped to his knees and cried out, breath coming quickly.  
  
“Sammy?” Dean asked, hearing the cry of pain. “Sammy, open the door.”  
  
“Dean,” Sam cried weakly, reaching up to unlock the door. More visions flooded his head and he groaned in pain as the door opened.  
  
Dean dropped to the floor beside Sam. “Sammy, what’s going on?” He pressed a kiss to Dylan’s head and gently laid him on the floor, away from Sam. He grabbed onto Sam, pulling Sam half onto his lap. “What’s going on?”  
  
The vision left Sam’s mind and the pain went away and he clutched at Dean’s shirt. “It … a vision,” he told him, voice scratchy.   
  
“It’s okay, Sammy, I’m here,” Dean said comfortingly, pulling Sam in for a hug. “What happened? Tell me what you saw.”  
  
Sam looked up at Dean, eyes blinking furiously. “I saw-- I was in the hospital. At least, I think so.”  
  
“Where were we?” Dean demanded. “Were we in Jefferson?”  
  
Sam looked up at Dean, shaking his head. “I don’t know where we were. Ma-- maybe, maybe not.”  
  
“Well you’re not fighting the werewolf there,” Dean began, “so you must be in the hospital here.”  
  
Sam nodded and buried his face in Dean’s neck, taking a deep breath. “Maybe if we go…”  
  
“You won’t end up in the hospital,” Dean finished, nodding. “You sure?”  
  
Sam nodded and shifted again, looking over Dean’s shoulder to watch Dylan. “Just--” he hiccuped, “just promise me we’ll be careful. For Dylan’s sake.”  
  
“Of course,” Dean agreed, pressing a kiss to Sam’s temple. “We’ll figure everything out and it’ll be fine.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam double-checked the buckles on Dylan’s car seat, smiling down at his son. He then did his own seatbelt up and smiled at Dean when he climbed into the car. “Call Bob?”  
  
Dean nodded, closing the door. “Yup. Left a message with Dad, so he knows where we are.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Ready for a little road-trip, Dylan?” He tickled Dylan’s stomach and wiggled his foot. “We’re going to Wisconsin!” He clapped his hands softly then grasped onto Dylan’s wrists, making him clap. “Yay!”  
  
“Everybody buckled up?” Dean asked, glancing in the rear view mirror.  
  
Sam nodded. “Yup. Let’s--” he looked around the car, “let’s get going.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 7  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter  
**Summary:** When they arrive in Wisconsin, Dean discovers Sam has a problem  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

**_one month and twenty-six days old_**  
  
Sam just stared at the ugly paisley wallpaper, head cocked slightly to the side. “It’s so … mid-western.” He cocked his head to the other side. “Huh.” He dropped his bag on the floor and walked over to one of the beds, sitting down on the edge. “Dean, we can afford better than this.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged off his jacket, setting it on the back of the chair at the small table. “Sammy, please don’t complain. I’m tired and I didn’t wanna drive anymore,” he whined. “Just go to sleep. Once you’re asleep you won’t even realize where we are.” He bit his lip and examined the second bed. “If we put Dylan _right_ in the middle of this bed, do you think he’d roll off?”  
  
“Please don’t risk it,” Sam told him, a smile on his face. He sighed and looked around, the paisley wallpaper looking as if it was spinning on the walls. “I’ll be in the bathroom,” he said suddenly. He stood up and walked the couple feet into the bathroom, closing the door behind.   
  
Dean stood still for a moment before he snapped out of it and stepped towards the bathroom door. “You okay?”  
  
“Yup,” Sam called back.  
  
Dean nodded slowly before leaning closer to the door, pressing his ear to the wood. “You-- you sure?”  
  
“Yup,” Sam said again and Dean could hear the sink running water.  
  
“O-- okay,” Dean said and walked back to the bed, unbuckling Dylan from his carrier.  
  
Sam dug through the pockets of his jacket, looking for the small pill bottle. He awkwardly managed to get the top off the bottle, shaking a couple of the pills into his hand. Cupping one hand under the stream of water, he popped the pills into his mouth, following them with the cool water. He swallowed hard then turned off the water, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He opened up the bathroom door and walked out, a smile on his face. “We have a long day tomorrow, you should get to bed.”  
  
Dean looked up from his duffel and nodded. “Yeah, sure. You okay?”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and smiled, shaking his head. “Yes, Dean, I’m fine. I told you I was.” He walked over to the other bed where Dylan was lying in the middle, kicking his legs. “Hi Dylan.” He leaned down and tickled his belly. “Hi Dyl. Hi.”  
  
“He might actually be okay there, you know,” Dean told him, pushing his jeans off his hips.   
  
Sam looked up at him. “I’m staying up with him anyway, he can just sleep in my arms.” He picked Dylan up, holding him to his chest. “Can’t you, Dylan, can’t you? Yes you can. You can sleep in Mommy’s arms.”  
  
Dean frowned but didn’t say anything as he pulled his shirt over his head. “You’re staying up the whole night?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess.” He laid Dylan back down and shrugged off his jacket, setting it on the chair by Dean’s. “It’s no biggie, I can manage. I just want to be awake if he needs me.”  
  
Dean pulled back the bed sheets and climbed onto the mattress, watching Sam push his jeans down. “Okay yeah, but a few days ago you were complaining that you didn’t get enough sleep.”  
  
“Well I’m fine now,” Sam said, watching Dean right back, “The coffee helps and I want to stay up with him. It’ll be fine.” He flashed Dean a smile then walked over to the bed, leaning down to give Dean a kiss. “Love you.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow and watched as Sam walked back over to the other bed and picked Dylan up again. “What are you, high? Now just … I don’t know where to put him, but come to bed. We need our rest.”  
  
Sam just shook his head, rocking Dylan back and forth in his arms.   
  
“Sam, do you know how long we drove for?” Dean asked, climbing back out of the bed.  
  
Sam nodded. “Thirty-five hours. Didn’t we Dylan, didn’t we? Oh, we did.”  
  
“You didn’t sleep the entire time,” Dean pointed out.  
  
“Neither did you,” Sam pointed out. “Same thing.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “No, because I’m going to bed now. I’m going to make up for those thirty-five hours. Maybe you should try it too.”  
  
Sam sighed and just shook his head again, bouncing up and down on his heels. “I’m fine,” he assured Dean, smiling at Dylan. “Me and Dylan are just fine. I’m going to be fine. I’m just going to stay up with him and then he can--”  
  
“You’re rambling,” Dean interrupted. “Come to bed, Sammy.” He stepped closer to Sam, pressing a kiss to Sam’s neck, nuzzling him. “I miss you,” he whispered, inhaling Sam’s scent. “You’re always up now, always awake with Dylan.” He pulled back a bit, looking Sam in the eyes. “I have _needs_ , Sammy. We haven’t had sex since before Dylan was born. That’s a long time and I can’t wait anymore.”  
  
“Dylan has needs too,” Sam said, rubbing Dylan’s back.   
  
“Hopefully not the same as mine,” Dean muttered under his breath.  
  
“And frankly, I care a lot more about his needs than yours,” Sam finished, glaring at Dean.  
  
“Sam, please,” Dean whined, stomping his foot. “Seriously. Four months without sex, I’m going insane.”  
  
“Dean, I’m not in the mood to have sex with you right now, okay?” Sam snapped, shifting on his feet.  
  
Dean sighed and shook his head, studying Sam. “Sam, you’re shaking,” he said suddenly, resting his hand on Sam’s shoulder. He could feel Sam’s tremors beneath his hand. “Are you cold?”  
  
Sam shook his head quickly and jerked away from Dean, almost stumbling. “I’m fine.” He got steady on his feet, tightening his hold on Dylan. “I’m-- I’m fine.”  
  
“Sam, you need sleep,” Dean said softly, stepping towards him. “How many hours of sleep have you had in the past week? Five? Six? You need to rest.”  
  
Sam shook his head again. “I need-- I need to take care of my son; that’s what I need and what he needs.” He sat down on the edge of the second bed and began humming softly to Dylan, but Dean could still see him shaking. “Dean, I swear, I’m fine. I’ll get sleep after this hunt, I promise.”  
  
“You promise?” Dean asked softly, stepping towards the bed.  
  
Sam nodded. “Of course I do. I promise. I’ll sleep the whole way back to Anaheim if you want me to.” He smiled up at Dean. “I’m fine. It’s just nerves, I swear.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean said quietly, leaning down to give Sam a kiss. “If you feel tired though, just lay him down. Put him in the carrier, okay? And come to bed.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Okay. Goodnight.”   
  
“Goodnight,” Dean replied, crawling back into bed. “Wanna hit the lights?” he asked, pulling the sheets up a bit.  
  
Sam stood up and walked over to the door, flicking off the lights. “Dean?” he said softly, pressing a kiss to Dylan’s head.  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked, shifting on the mattress.  
  
“I really am okay, you know,” Sam told him. “I know I’m not sleeping enough, but I’m okay. Other than that. I just-- I just don’t want you to think that I’m not okay.”   
  
Dean felt a dip in the mattress by his feet and heard Dylan make a soft sound. “Okay, Sam. I believe you.” The dip on the mattress was gone, but only seconds later, Sam’s long hair was brushing against Dean’s cheek and Sam’s lips were pressed to the side of Dean’s mouth. Dean shifted his head and caught Sam’s lips in a full kiss, reaching up to pull Sam down to him. “Goodnight, Sam.”  
  
Sam stood back up, smiling. “Goodnight, Dean.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean groaned and rolled over. His eyes flickered open, squinting from the sunlight coming in through the window. He lifted his head and looked around, seeing Dylan lying on the other bed. He grinned and sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Hi Dylan. Where’s Mommy?” Dean’s question was soon answered when he heard retching from the other side of the bathroom door. “Shit,” he muttered, taking a deep breath. “Sammy, you okay in there?” He swung his legs off the bed and padded over to the bathroom door. “What’s going on?”  
  
“N-- nothing!” Sam called back, before he continued heaving into the toilet.  
  
Dean tried the door and to his surprise, found it was open. He turned the knob and pushed the door open, closing it behind him. “Sammy, what’s going on? Are you okay?” He knelt down beside Sam, his hand on the small of Sam’s back. “Coming down with something?”  
  
Sam shook his head as best he could. “No, just-- just didn’t feel well.” He reached up and flushed the toilet, sitting back on his heels. “I’m fine.”  
  
Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. “Sam, you’re not fine, okay? You haven’t slept in more than two days and now you’re throwing up.”  
  
“You seemed okay with it last night,” Sam muttered, moving to push himself up off the floor, but Dean grabbed onto his arm and kept him in place. “Dean, I’m _fine_. I told you last night, I’m _fine_. Now let me go, damn it.”  
  
“You lied to me last night,” Dean said accusingly. “You said you were okay. You were shaking and you weren’t _you_. I should’ve known. What are you on?”  
  
Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’m not _on_ anything. I don’t do drugs, you know that!” He went to push himself up again, but Dean grabbed onto his shoulders, shoving him back down to the hard, cold bathroom floor.   
  
“Stop lying to me, Sammy,” Dean commanded. “Is that what you were doing in the bathroom yesterday? Getting high?”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes again, but didn’t try to stand up. “Gee, _Dad_ , I didn’t know you were so interested. Seriously, Dean, I’m not on anything, let me up.”  
  
Dean sighed and examined Sam, the bags under his eyes, the paleness of his skin and still, the tremors. “Fine, don’t tell me. But you’re not breastfeeding Dylan until I know what you’re on.” He pushed himself up and looked down at Sam. “Where are the drugs, Sam?”   
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam muttered. “And I can’t just stop breastfeeding him, Dean, that’s not how it works!”  
  
“Maybe you should’ve thought of that _before_ ,” Dean snapped, before he opened the door. He walked out into the room and went straight to Sam’s jeans, on the floor. He patted the pockets, finding nothing.  
  
“Hey!” Sam protested, pushing himself up.  
  
“Whatever, Sam,” Dean said, trying to remember what Sam had had on last night when they got in. He glanced over at Sam before walking over to his jacket. He slipped his hand into the first pocket, finding nothing.  
  
“Dean, Dean don’t,” Sam said, rushing over to him. “Please. Don’t.”  
  
Dean lifted his head and studied Sam before going into the other pocket, finding the pill bottle.  
  
“Dean, please, don’t,” Sam pleaded softly, grabbing onto Dean’s wrist. “It’s nothing, I swear. Just-- I’m fine, just don’t take them.”  
  
Dean hesitated for only a moment before trying to jerk his wrist out of Sam’s grasp. “Sam. Let go of my wrist.”  
  
Sam swallowed hard and shook his head. “Dean, it’s not what you think.”  
  
Dean grabbed the bottle and yanked his hand out of Sam’s grip. He read the bottle, before looking up at Sam. “Caffeine pills? Sam, you’re taking caffeine pills?”  
  
“I need to stay awake,” Sam said quietly, eyes dropping. “You need sleep and Dylan needs me to be awake, if he wakes up.”  
  
Dean sighed and shook his head. “No, Sam.” He turned and walked into the bathroom, taking off the cap and holding the bottle above the toilet.  
  
“Give them back,” Sam demanded, following Dean into the bathroom.  
  
Dean shook his head furiously. “You’re addicted, Sam.”  
  
“I am not!” Sam insisted. “I just have trouble staying awake sometimes. Please, give them back.”  
  
“Sometimes?” Dean repeated. “Sam, this bottle is almost empty and I know you didn’t have them a week ago. You’re addicted.”  
  
Sam shook his head and held out his hand. “I can stop whenever I want.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Fine. Then you won’t care if I get rid of them.” He tilted the bottle and the pills all fell into the toilet, making tiny splashing sounds as they hit the water.  
  
“No!” Sam cried, but before he could do anything, Dean flushed the toilet. Sam stared into the toilet, watching as his pills disappeared. “You had no right to do that,” he accused, lifting his eyes to glare at Dean. “Those were mine.”  
  
Dean tossed the bottle up into the air and shoved past Sam, walking back out into the room. “We … I shouldn’t’ve brought you. Or Dylan. I can’t-- I don’t have time to worry about the hunt, Dylan _and_ you.”  
  
“I _needed_ those,” Sam told him, walking out of the bathroom.   
  
“Why, Sam?” Dean yelled, turning around to look at him. “Tell me why the _hell_ you would need them!”  
  
“Because I can’t do this anymore!” Sam screamed. He took a deep breath and reached up to wipe at his eyes. “I can’t do this anymore,” he said again, quietly this time.  
  
“Do what?” Dean snapped.  
  
“I can’t compete with you,” Sam answered. “Hell, I can’t even compete with _him_!” He glanced at Dylan. “I can’t do this. You’re Super-Dad and he’s-- you take care of him and--”  
  
“You cannot and will not blame this on me!” Dean snapped, glaring at Sam. “You’re the addict, not me.”  
  
“I just needed to be able to compete with you,” Sam said softly, voice rough from the screaming and yelling. “I thought that-- that if I could stay up, stay awake, then you’d think I was a good parent, for taking care of him.”  
  
Dean sighed and stepped forward, reaching out to Sam, but he just flinched away. “You are a good parent, Sammy. You are. But what the hell do you mean, you can’t compete with Dylan? He’s just a baby.”  
  
Sam just shook his head, swallowing hard. He reached up and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, groaning. “You spend all your time with him when you’re not at work. I miss you.”  
  
“Okay, blame me for that if you want, Sam, but don’t blame Dylan,” Dean chastised. “He is your son. Not somebody you have to compete with.”  
  
Sam swallowed and shook his head, tears filling his eyes. “It’s not just that.”  
  
Dean took a deep breath, not sure how much worse it all could get.  
  
Sam looked at Dean, eyes wide and full of sadness. “I-- I look at him and I just-- I’m not sure I can love him. Sometimes I just want him gone. And-- and then I think that if I could just--”  
  
“Sam, don’t finish that sentence,” Dean interrupted. He shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“Because _you_ don’t feel this way!” Sam cried. “Because it isn’t normal! I cry, all the time, and I have nightmares about having him and I want to hurt my son! That’s not normal!” His tears finally spilled over and he wiped at his eyes furiously, breath shaky, trying to calm down. “It’s not normal.”  
  
Dean bit his lip, watching Sam practically fall apart in front of him. “Sam, I can help you, let me help you. It’s going to be okay.” He reached out to Sam but Sam just jerked away. Dean moved back and watched Sam, waiting until he calmed down.  
  
Sam’s tears finally stopped and he shifted on his feet, sighing. “So what are we going to do?” Sam asked quietly. “You need me to be awake. Dylan needs me to be awake.”  
  
“We need you to be healthy, Sam,” Dean corrected. “I … I don’t know what I want you to do. I want you to feel better, I want you to stop hurting so much, but I can’t stop that, I don’t know how. The most I can do is want you to get to sleep.”  
  
“But--” Sam began, but cut himself off when Dean shook his head.  
  
“Now,” Dean told him. “I’ll take Dylan out, get a bite to eat or something. You’ll stay here and you’ll sleep and then … then I’ll-- we have to do research.”  
  
“What about me breastfeeding him?” Sam asked, stepping towards Dean.  
  
Dean studied Sam for a moment, before shaking his head. “I can’t let you do it, Sammy. I’m sorry. I know that like, all the websites said it’s going to be hard, on both of you, to stop, but you’re taking caffeine pills, Sam. Stuff like that can hurt him.” He walked over to his duffel and grabbed his jeans, pulling them on. “Now, back to the wolf, we need to find out who it is.”  
  
Sam nodded slowly, stepping back as Dean pulled on his jacket. He wrapped his arms around himself and watched Dean pick Dylan up, putting him in his carrier. “ _I_ can do that, while you’re--” Dean shook his head again and Sam stopped talking. “No?”  
  
“No,” Dean agreed. “ _Sleep_ , Sammy. It’s not that hard. Do whatever, just get yourself to sleep. Jerk-off or something.”  
  
Sam blushed a bit and dropped his eyes. “I’ll just … lie down.” He nodded again and gave a half-smile. “Good-- goodni-- morning then, I guess.”  
  
Dean smiled back. “We won’t be too long, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Okay. Bring-- bring me back something? Please?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Of course.” Dean picked up the carrier then leaned up, giving Sam a kiss on the cheek. “Get to sleep.” He walked over to the door and opened it up, closing it quietly behind him.  
  
Sam swallowed hard and sighed, shifting on his feet before he turned around, going over to the bed. He climbed in under the sheets and pulled them up, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Dean on the sheets and wrapped his arms around the other pillow. He tried to make himself feel tired, but he was still as jittery and wide awake as he had been the night before. Sam knew however, that if Dean came back and he hadn’t slept, Dean would just get even angrier. Sam just shut his eyes and took another deep breath, hoping he’d fall asleep.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean got his hand at the doorknob, but before he opened the door, he looked down at Dylan. “You have to be quiet, ‘kay Dylan? Mommy’s sleeping, so we have to be quiet.” He turned the knob and pushed the door open, quietly as he could. He had to smile when he saw Sam in bed, closing the door behind him. “Look Dyl, Mommy’s sleeping.” He set the carrier down on the table and shrugged off his jacket.   
  
Sam groaned softly and shifted under the sheets, lips smacking.  
  
Dean walked over to the bed, leaning over a bit to study Sam’s face. His eyes _were_ closed and he looked asleep, but Dean still wasn’t completely sure. He sighed and reached down, brushing Sam’s hair off his forehead. Sam made another small sound and his eyes moved under the lids, but they didn’t open, so Dean stepped back, going over to the table. He sat down and opened up the laptop. “Wanna help Daddy find the wolf, Dylan? Do ya?” He unbuckled Dylan’s carrier and lifted him up, holding him up to his chest. “Or do you wanna sleep with Mommy?” Dean sighed and studied the Google homepage, not exactly sure what to search. Sam was always a lot better at the research part of the hunt than he was. He groaned and resisted the urge to smack his head against the keyboard. Finally, Dean just opened up a blank word document and turned Dylan around, holding him up to the keyboard. “Alright Dylan, this is it.” He pressed a kiss to the back of Dylan’s head. “The great American novel.” He held him closer to the keyboard. “And go.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam murmured in his sleep and rolled over one last time before he groaned and his eyes flickered open. He heard the sounds of someone smacking the keyboard and Dean laughing softly. “Dean?” he said softly, lifting his head.   
  
Dean glanced back at him, a smile on his face. “You slept,” Dean said, looking back to the computer. “How are you feeling?”  
  
Sam shrugged and pushed himself up. “What time-- how long was I out?”  
  
“Well, assuming you went to bed when I left,” Dean began, glancing at the clock, “about seven hours.”  
  
Sam swallowed and nodded, swinging his legs off the bed. “Sounds good to me.”  
  
“You’re going to bed tonight too,” Dean told him, looking back when he heard Sam stand up.   
  
Sam didn’t say anything and sniffled and wiped at his nose. “How’s Dylan been?”  
  
“Fine,” Dean answered, shifting Dylan on his lap. “He’s been typing for me. Isn’t that right Dyl? You’re writing your first book.”  
  
Sam smiled and walked up behind them, reading the screen. “Wow, Dylan, did you do that?” He stepped to the side of Dean and knelt down, getting Dylan to look at him. “Wow, Dylan. You must take after your mommy.” He smiled and stuck his tongue out at Dylan, reaching out to grasp onto Dylan’s hand, shaking it. “That is just great, Dylan.” He leaned in and gave him a kiss. “So what’s your book about Dylan? What’s it about, huh?”  
  
“When I got back, I remembered I’m not very good at the whole research thing, so I figured I’d wait until you woke up. Let you handle that,” Dean explained.  
  
Sam pushed himself back up as Dylan continued hitting the keys. “Well, you’re right, I _am_ better at it than you.” He sighed and smiled, crossing his arms. “Listen, Dean, I am _really_ \--”  
  
“Save it,” Dean interrupted. “I already listened to you last night and that was a lie. I don’t know what the truth is anymore.” He nudged at the other chair with his foot, gesturing for Sam to sit down.  
  
Sam pulled the chair out the rest of the way and sat down, watching Dean, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “So what do we deal with first? The werewolf, or the-- me?”  
  
Dean sighed and slouched down a bit in his chair. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Sam, you’re sick. You’re sick physically and you’re sick mentally. You and Dylan are my first priorities. But I mean … this is why we came to Wisconsin. We drove half-way across the country for this.”  
  
Sam nodded and dropped his head into his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“I know you are,” Dean told him, “but Sam, you did lie. You put Dylan at risk. I looked it up; caffeine can pass through the milk. You could’ve gotten him sick too.”  
  
“I know,” Sam said, pressing his palms to his eyes until he saw spots. “I know! Okay, I screwed up. That’s what I do. Sam the Screw-up.” He lifted his head and sighed, watching Dylan. “He’s the only good thing I ever did.”  
  
“Whoa, Sam, I didn’t say that,” Dean protested. “Sam, we’ve all made mistakes. I’m not saying that’s _all_ you ever do. I’m sorry if that’s what you think.” He slouched down a bit more. “Fuck. See Sam, normal? Not so fun.”  
  
“You can say that again,” Sam muttered. “God. Maybe-- maybe we … I should’ve talked to you and asked for your help instead of … yeah. I’m sorry.” He dropped his head again; his arms outstretched on the table, his left hand fingers nervously picking at the barely movable fingers of his right hand. “They’re all white males, between the ages of twenty and thirty. I don’t know if that means anything or not.” He lifted his head a bit, just enough to see Dean, “and they’re all in this county. Odds are the wolf is from this county too.”  
  
“You’ve been watching too much CSI,” Dean joked, laughing softly. “So we’ll go talk to someone who knows each of the guys, see if there’s anyone they all have in common that may just happen to be pissed with them.”  
  
“What about Dylan?” Sam reminded him.  
  
“Okay, so we’ll do it one at a time,” Dean suggested. “The other one will just stay in the car.”  
  
Sam nodded then grabbed onto the laptop, turning it towards him. “Sorry, Dylan, Mommy needs the computer.” He began typing, much slower than he had before, using only one hand. “We’ll save your story, baby, don’t worry.”   
  
“Can you handle this for a couple minutes?” Dean asked, pushing his chair back. “I wanna grab a shower.”  
  
Sam nodded and pushed his chair back just a bit, taking Dylan from him. “We’ll be okay, won’t we Dylan?” He kissed Dylan’s cheek. “Yes we will, yes we will.”  
  
Dean smiled and nodded, going into the bathroom. He didn’t lock the door behind him, just in case something happened and Sam needed to get into the bathroom. He walked over to the shower and turned on the water, before pulling his shirt off and pushing his boxers down. He began humming to himself as he stepped into the tub, pulling the curtain closed behind him.   
  
Sam held Dylan up with his right arm and continued typing with his left, hunched over to get closer to Dylan. “What do you wanna do Dylan? Are you hungry?” He sighed and shook his head. “No, you’re not.” He turned Dylan around and held him to his chest, rubbing his back. “You’re not mad at me Dylan, are you? No, you love me. No matter what.” He opened up his music folder and began scrolling through the songs. “You’re not going to listen to Daddy’s music. I’m gonna nip that in the bud, right here and now.” He double-clicked the song and turned the volume down a bit.   
  
“You sit there in your heartache, waiting on some beautiful boy to, to save you from your old ways,” Brandon Flowers sang from the laptop.  
  
Sam gave Dylan another kiss and pushed the chair back, standing up. “When you were young,” he sang softly to Dylan, swaying back and forth. “Can we climb this mountain, I don’t know.” He closed his eyes and held Dylan closer to him.  
  
“And sometimes you close your eyes and see the place that you used to live, when you were young,” the song continued on, Sam still swaying.  
  
“They say the devil’s water, it ain’t so sweet, you don’t have drink right now,” Sam sang along, nuzzling Dylan’s cheek, “but you can dip your feet every once in a little while.” He continued humming along, one large hand fanned out on Dylan’s back. “I’m sorry you have such complicated parents, Dylan. But you don’t care, do you? As long as we love you and take care of you, you’ll still love us.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “Dean’s wrong, you _are_ the best thing I’ve ever done.”   
  
The song on the laptop changed and the acoustic sounds of Equalizer filled the hotel room. “It was the year of our father, nineteen-hundred and seventy-six in GA, when I first met my Mary, quite contrary to what my mother did say.”  
  
“Your grandmother’s name was Mary,” Sam told Dylan, gently rubbing Dylan’s soft hair. “She had blonde hair, just like you. She was so pretty, Dylan. I don’t know her either, like you, but I’ve seen pictures. Grampie loved her more than anything in the world.” He pressed a kiss to Dylan’s tiny fist. “I promise me and Daddy will always be around, no matter what. We’re not going to leave you. Even if us Winchesters do have a history of leaving.”  
  
Dean shut off the water and opened the curtain. He stepped out and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. He grabbed another one and ran it quickly over his head, semi-drying his hair. He opened up the door and stepped out, before smiling at the sight in front of him. Dean chuckled softly and leant against the doorframe, just watching Sam with Dylan, singing to him softly. “Having fun?”  
  
Sam jumped and turned around quickly, blushing slightly. “I was just-- Dylan and I were just--”  
  
“Sam, it’s okay,” Dean assured him, walking into the room. “It’s cute.” He walked over to his duffel bag, grabbing clothes and boxers. “Of course, the music is crap. Dylan wants some AC/DC or something. Metallica.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “I had him listening to The Killers.”  
  
Dean dropped his towel and opened his mouth in shock as he began pulling on his boxers. “Sam! Ew.” He reached down and grabbed his t-shirt, pulling it over his head. “Seriously, Sam. What are trying to do to him?”   
  
“Um, raise him properly?” Sam smirked, cocking his head to one side. “I’d rather our son _not_ grow up with a mullet, thank you.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Okay, so how are we running this? Insurance, journalist, concerned ‘friend’…”  
  
“Something that doesn’t involve wearing a suit,” Sam answered, bouncing Dylan up and down gently. “Grief counsellors?”  
  
“I’m thinking interns,” Dean answered, pulling on his jeans. “For a paper. Ask what the place was they were.” His eyes filled with confusion and he shook his head. “Ask where the last place where they were was. Is that right? Ask where they were seen last before the attack.”  
  
Sam laughed and shook his head. “Leave the grammar up to me.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“How do I look?” Dean asked, checking out his hair in the rear view mirror.  
  
Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “You know, I’m not entirely sure how to answer that question. How long you plan on being?”  
  
Dean smirked and waggled his eyebrows. “Well, if she’s a _hot_ housewife, give me about--”  
  
“Three minutes?” Sam interrupted, a huge grin on his face.   
  
Dean glared at Sam, glancing back at him. “Yeah well, I still last longer than you.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out, brushing his hair off his forehead. “Just go and find something out, please and thank you.”  
  
“Fine,” Dean muttered, climbing out of the car. “Be back.” He jogged up the steps to the front door and cleared his throat and adjusted his shirt before ringing the doorbell. He shifted on his feet and glanced back at the car before he looked back to the house when he heard someone at the door.   
  
“Yeah?” the teenage boy asked, flipping his bangs back across his forehead.   
  
“Uh, hi,” Dean said, flashing a quick smile. “Was this the house of Mister Will London?”  
  
“He’s dead,” the teenager said in a monotone voice, flipping his hair again.  
  
“Yes, I know that,” Dean said, tapping his foot impatiently. “I’m an intern with the newspaper. I was just wondering if I could ask a few questions about him. About the night he died. What was his relation to you?”  
  
“Brother,” the boy answered. There was that damn hair flip again. “My mom doesn’t like the newspapers coming around.”  
  
“Well, your mother doesn’t need to know,” Dean said, leaning in a bit. “Listen, my boss told me I need to talk to someone who was related to each victim and write an article about it or else my ass is grass. Just five minutes, please?”  
  
The boy sighed and finally nodded. He stepped out of the way, giving Dean room enough to walk in.  
  
Dean smiled in thanks and extended his hand towards the boy. “Mark.”  
  
The teen stared down at Dean’s hand and looked back at him, eyebrow raised. “Paul,” he replied, but still didn’t shake Dean’s hand.  
  
“Right,” Dean said, chuckling nervously. He was definitely going to get Sam back for making him go first.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 8  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** NC-17 this chapter  
**Summary:** While Sam's going through withdrawls, Dean's hunting a werewolf  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

Dylan yawned from his car seat which set off a chain reaction in the car; first Dean then finally, even though he tried to keep it in, Sam yawned loudly.  
  
“You’re actually tired,” Dean said, a statement more than a question. “How are you dealing with that?”  
  
“It’s not funny,” Sam told him, looking out the window, watching the unfamiliar neighbourhood go by.  
  
“I wasn’t joking,” Dean replied. “It’s not a joke. Are you okay with-- with being tired?”  
  
Sam swallowed and shrugged. “I don’t wanna sleep,” he said, voice quiet and ashamed, “but … I don’t wanna take the pills anymore either. You said they could hurt Dylan.”  
  
Dean sighed. “Tell me that’s not the _only_ reason you have to not want to take those pills, Sam,” he said, looking over at Sam.  
  
Sam lifted his head from the window and glared at Dean. “Isn’t he the _best_ reason? What other reason would I have?”  
  
“Um, because you’re not _you_ when you’re on those pills,” Dean pointed out. “You lied to me. You don’t lie to me, Sam.”  
  
Sam sighed and leant his head back against the window. “I miss home,” he said softly, and Dean wasn’t entirely sure Sam wasn’t talking to himself. “I miss our apartment. I miss Dylan’s crib. I miss our bed.”  
  
Dean sighed and reached over, rubbing Sam’s leg comfortingly. “We’re not going to be here much longer, Sammy, and then it’s only a two day drive back. It’s going to be okay.”  
  
Sam nodded and yawned again, reaching up to rub at his chest, hissing in slight pain. “Fuck, it hurts,” he murmured. “Dean, I have to feed him.”  
  
“And I told you, you should’ve thought of that before you took those pills,” Dean explained. “I looked it up. Caffeine can go through the breast milk into the baby. I’m not taking that risk.”  
  
Sam reached over and grabbed at Dean’s knee, looking at him, eyes wide. “Please, Dean, it hurts,” he pleaded, “and it’s only going to get worse.”  
  
Dean took a deep breath and studied Sam for a moment. “If you can promise you’re not doing this anymore, I’ll let you start to feed when we get back, I guess.”  
  
Sam nodded thankfully. “Thank god.” They sat in silence for a couple minutes before Sam winced and rubbed at his temples. “I have a migraine.”  
  
“That would be the withdrawal,” Dean said, patting Sam’s knee. “Looked it up on the net. It’s going to get worse before it gets better, but by the time we get home, it should all be over with.”  
  
“Great,” Sam muttered, jerking his leg away from Dean’s touch. “Bet it’d go away if I had a cup of coffee.” His eyes opened wide and he shook his head. “I didn’t mean that. I just-- I’m not going to do it again.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Good. ‘Cause I’ll kick your ass if I ever see you drinking coffee again.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“So did we get the same thing?” Dean asked, leaning towards Sam, who was still rubbing his temples. “Sam?” He snapped his fingers a couple times then waved his hand in front of Sam’s eyes. “Are you even listening?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, sorry. Yeah, um, the three people I talked to said that uh, that … um…”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and dropped his head forward a bit. “Sam, focus here.”  
  
“The same bar,” Sam finished finally. “McCoy or something.”  
  
“Alright, high five!” Dean said, raising his hand. At Sam’s glare, he dropped his hand. “Alright. Well, that’s what Paul and Jeanne told me too.”  
  
“Paul and Jeanne?” Sam repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, whatever. So they were all at the same bar. Which means, obviously, whoever the werewolf is, is either at the bar with them, or waiting outside.”  
  
“So what, tomorrow night, we go to McCoy’s?” Dean asked, leaning his chair back a bit.  
  
“I’m not taking our son to a bar,” Sam said, “and I’m not leaving him with a sitter. One of us will go, that’ll be fine.”  
  
“Sam, I’m not sure if you remember exactly what a werewolf is, but things can go wrong with a wolf,” Dean reminded him. “I mean, they don’t always, but they can.”  
  
“What about Dylan then?” Sam asked. “You want to break him in, give _him_ some scars too? He’s not even two months old and you want to take him on a hunt.”  
  
“No, I want to leave him with a sitter,” Dean corrected. “Teenage girl or a werewolf, Sam; pick one.”  
  
Sam sighed and shook his head. “Dean, we’re not teenagers anymore. We know what we’re doing. One of us can shoot a freakin’ silver bullet. Preferably you, of course, but one of us.” He groaned softly and rubbed at his eyes again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we go to bed now?” he asked, changing the subject.  
  
Dean perked up at that. “You want to go to bed?” he asked in disbelief.  
  
“Anything to get rid of this headache,” Sam muttered, pushing his chair back. “Please, Dean, let’s just go to bed.”  
  
Dean nodded and pushed his chair back, lifting Dylan’s carrier up onto the table. “You wanna sleep in here Dylan? Did you sleep in here last night?”  
  
“Slept with me last night,” Sam reminded him, pulling off his socks. “But I think he’ll be okay in the carrier. Made it in the car ride here.”  
  
Dean leaned down, making faces at Dylan. “Why don’t you have any socks on Dylan? Did you take off your socks?” He opened his mouth wide. “ _I_ took your socks off? I don’t remember that, Dylan. Did Daddy take your socks off? Look at those little toesie-woesies.” He scratched at each of Dylan’s toes. “This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home. This little piggy had roast beef, this little piggy had none. And this little piggy went ‘wee wee wee’ all the way home.” He tickled Dylan’s foot and smiled at him, before blowing a raspberry on the sole of the foot. “Are you going to be okay in the carrier, Dyl? Are you going to be okay? Okay, Dylan. Cry if you need one of us, okay? Okay.” He leaned down and gave Dylan a kiss. “Go to sleep, Dill Pickle, be a good boy.” He walked away from the table, biting his lip. “Is he really going to be okay?” He flicked off the lights and waited a moment to see if Dylan would cry from the dark.  
  
“I don’t know,” Sam replied, pulling his shirt off. “I’m just tired, I just want to go to bed.”  
  
“That’s good,” Dean observed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I-- that’s good.” He began unbuttoning his shirt, glancing at Sam. “Do you need an aspirin or something, Sam? Is it that bad?”  
  
Sam nodded. “It’s that bad, but I don’t want anything. I’ll-- I’ll be okay.” He pushed off his jeans, leaving them on the floor as he pulled back the bed sheets, climbing in. He shivered a bit from the cool sheets.  
  
Dean finished getting undressed and stood up, walking to the other side of the bed, climbing in alongside Sam. “Goodnight, Sam,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to whatever part of Sam’s chest his lips blindly hit.  
  
Sam nodded. “Ye-- yeah. Goodnight, Dean.” He turned on the mattress and cuddled up to Dean, still shivering. “I love you, so much.”  
  
“I love you too, Sammy,” Dean told him, wrapping his arm around Sam, pulling him in. “Everything’s going to be okay.”  
  
Sam bit his lip and tried to squirm in even closer to Dean, but he was already as close as he could be. “You’ve been saying that for months now. When’s it going to come true?”  
  
Dean closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead. “When we get back. Everything’s going to be okay once we get back. I promise. You’ll stop taking the pills and I’ll take care of you.”  
  
Sam nodded. “I miss you, sometimes. All the time. I miss you.” He pressed a kiss to Dean’s neck and wrapped one arm around Dean. “I love you, I love you.” He gave Dean another kiss. “I love you.”  
  
Dean chuckled softly. “Yeah, I got that part.”  
  
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and nearly bit through his lip on a particularly sharp jab of pain behind his eyes. He moved his mouth up to Dean’s ear, breath coming quickly. “ _Fuck_ me,” he pleaded, gritting through the pain.  
  
Dean moved back from Sam, looking him in the eyes. “Sam, are you sure? We-- we haven’t done it since-- wouldn’t you rather it be at home?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Please? Please? I miss you so much. I just … I just want to be with you. Please?”  
  
Dean swallowed hard and his tongue came out to wet his drying lips before he finally nodded. “I-- I don’t have any condoms. Or lube.”  
  
Sam shook his head again. “It’s okay. We’ll just … you’ll just go slower, okay? We’ve done without before.” He nuzzled Dean’s cheek, digging his fingers into Dean’s arm. “My head hurts,” he said softly.  
  
Dean found Sam’s lips in the dark and kissed him, entangling his fingers in Sam’s hair. He slipped his tongue in Sam’s mouth before pulling back to nip at Sam’s bottom lip, soothing it with kisses. “Four months without sex, Sammy,” he said, moving his mouth down Sam’s neck. “Thank you.” He sucked at Sam’s Adam’s Apple before moving down to his collarbone.   
  
Sam groaned softly and tilted his head back, exposing more neck to Dean’s lips. “You’re not mad at me?”  
  
Dean lifted his head, eyes blinking wildly. “Sam, are you sure this is the time?”  
  
“I need to know,” Sam answered, sitting up a bit. “I can’t … unless you tell me you’re not mad at me.”  
  
“Well, what if I _am_ mad at you?” Dean asked, pushing himself up.   
  
Sam’s eyes dropped and he looked between them, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He took a deep breath and sighed. “Then I deserve it because I messed up really bad.”  
  
“I still love you though,” Dean said softly, giving Sam another kiss. He pulled back and sucked two fingers into his mouth, wetting them thoroughly. “Spread your legs,” he said quietly, getting between Sam’s legs. Keeping his eyes on Sam’s, he found Sam’s entrance and began pressing the first finger in.  
  
Sam gasped at the initial intrusion and his eyes screwed shut but he quickly relaxed and Dean’s finger sunk in further. He reached up and dug his fingers into Dean’s hair, watching him with eyes half-closed. He groaned again softly, head smacking against the wall.  
  
Dean chuckled softly and pressed his finger in all the way, twisting it to hit that spot inside Sam.  
  
Sam nearly bit through his lip when Dean’s finger brushed his prostate and cried out loudly, fingers digging even more into Dean’s head. “Take it-- I want to go slow.” He tossed his head to the side and gasped again, letting go of Dean’s hair to grip at the bed sheets. “Slow?” he asked, whimpering as Dean slipped the second finger in.  
  
Dean nodded slowly, leaning down to brush his lips against Sam’s. “Slow,” he agreed, leisurely thrusting his fingers into Sam. “Nice and slow, ‘kay?” He pressed against Sam’s prostate again and Sam cried out, arching his back. “I love you, Sammy,” he said quietly, kissing Sam gently all along his jaw line and neck. “Please, _please_ don’t do this to me ever again.” He lifted his head, looking Sam in the eyes. “I need you to be with me.”  
  
Sam nodded furiously, biting his bottom lip. “I pr--” he voice broke and he cried out loudly, but kept his eyes on Dean. “I promise,” he said, reaching his hand out to Dean. He cupped Dean’s cheek and sat up, giving Dean a kiss. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His eyes filled with tears but he squeezed them shut before any could escape. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  
  
“I know,” Dean said softly. “Just don’t do it again.”  
  
Sam nodded and opened his eyes, letting out a tiny sob. “I’m ready,” he said suddenly, glancing down between them.  
  
Dean nodded and slipped his fingers out, shifting onto his knees, reaching down to spread his leaking precum.  
  
Sam spread his legs as wide as he could, watching the wall as Dean positioned himself between Sam’s legs. He automatically put his legs up on Dean’s shoulders, groaning in pain even before Dean started to push forward, just as he was bent slightly in half.  
  
“You okay?” Dean asked, not moving.  
  
“My stomach,” Sam explained, reaching down to run his hand over the scar on his stomach. “It hurts.”  
  
Dean sighed and let Sam’s legs slip off his shoulders. “On your knees, ‘kay?”  
  
Sam nodded, but it took a couple seconds before he actually moved, rolling over onto his stomach before pushing himself up onto all fours. His head dropped forward, staring at the sheet before he felt Dean’s hands running up his thighs, before going up further, spreading him open. Soon, he felt Dean’s tongue at his entrance, worming its way in and he threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut. Sam’s voice broke as he cried out, a white-knuckled grip on the sheets. “De-- Dean?” he panted out, glancing back at Dean.  
  
Dean didn’t lift his head, just swirled his tongue around, thrusting it in and out of Sam. He pulled away a bit, just lapping at the puckered skin before breaching the muscle once again.  
  
Sam’s breath started coming quickly and he dropped his head forward again, whimpering every time Dean’s tongue moved.   
  
Dean lifted his head, pressing kisses to the small of Sam’s back. He moved up, stroking himself a couple times before positioning himself again at Sam’s entrance. “Better?” he asked, leaning down to Sam’s ear. At Sam’s nod, he began pressing forward, surprised at how tight Sam still felt around him. He pressed a kiss to Sam’s sweat-slicked back, before dragging his tongue up along his spine, pressing another kiss. “Sam?” he asked; one hand on Sam’s hip, the other grasping onto Sam’s cock, jerking him gently.   
  
Sam groaned and pushed his hips back, grinding against Dean. “I--” he panted and gripped the sheets even tighter. His arms collapsed when Dean thrust in particularly hard, and the only thing keeping his hips up was Dean, his fingers sure to leave bruises on Sam’s hips.   
  
Dean began thrusting in and out, hard then slow, all the while mouthing Sam’s back, sucking on the skin. “Sammy,” he groaned softly as he thumbed the head of Sam’s cock, pressing that spot right underneath the crown.   
  
That was it, and Sam cried out loudly, coming into Dean’s hand and on the sheets below him.   
  
Dean squeezed his eyes shut and stilled for a moment, just feeling Sam’s muscles clench and unclench around him, before he started thrusting again, only harder this time.   
  
Sam cried out softly, body tired and nearly limp, just jerking with Dean’s thrusts. “Dean,” he said, voice scratchy, arms shaking as he began to push himself back up, head still hanging low. “Dean,” he said again.  
  
“Shh,” Dean said softly, running a hand up Sam’s side. “It’s okay.”  
  
Sam nodded and let one arm collapse, awkwardly half-pushed up. He groaned again and his eyes fluttered shut, his headache now a migraine. “Hurts,” he mumbled and he looked back at Dean.   
  
Dean stilled his hips, breath coming quickly, watching Sam. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, reaching up to push his hair off his forehead, sticking it up with the sweat.  
  
Sam shook his head and just shifted his body, closing his eyes again. “Wan-- wanna feel you finish,” he mumbled, reaching up to wipe his brow. He shifted on the bed again and just concentrated on the feeling of Dean hitting his prostate on nearly every thrust, still shooting jabs of pleasure up his spine. “De-- Dean, I think--”  
  
“What?” Dean asked, leaning down to give Sam a kiss.  
  
Sam gasped softly and his eyes shot open, watching Dean. He took a deep, whooping breath and cried out, eyes squeezing shut again. He whined in the back of his throat as he jerked weakly and came a second time.  
  
Dean chuckled softly and gave Sam another kiss, thrusting even harder. Dean bit down on Sam’s lip and the coppery taste filled both their mouths as he finally came. He groaned softly and panted, finally just collapsing onto Sam. He took a deep breath and yawned, right before Dylan began to cry. Dean groaned and rolled off Sam, staring up at the ceiling. “I kinda forgot about him for a second there,” he said quietly, chuckling.  
  
Sam smiled at Dean, before he pushed himself up on the bed and walked gingerly over to Dylan’s carrier, unbuckling him.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean sighed and fixed his hair in the mirror, leaning back to glance into the room. He sighed again then leaned forward, popping the collar on his jacket. “I’m ready to go.” He walked out of the bathroom and went over to the bed, grabbing his wallet off the sheets. “Sam, I thought you were staying here.”   
  
Sam looked up and let go of his laces, sitting up straight, watching Dean expectantly. “I can’t let you go alone. It’s too dangerous.”  
  
“What about Dylan?” Dean pointed out, sitting down on the edge of the other bed, the bed with Dylan up by the pillows. “You wanna take him to hunt a werewolf?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Sam said softly, swallowing hard. “He-- he might be safe, in the car,” he said hopefully. “Don’t you think?”  
  
Dean just stared at Sam in disbelief. “Um, no? Sam, he is a baby! Not some--” he searched for the right word, “ _thing_ that can survive werewolf attacks.”  
  
Sam had to smile at that, despite the seriousness of the whole thing. “Right,” he muttered, trying not to laugh. “Dean, I can’t--” he groaned softly as his migraine from the day before threatened to return. “Go. But please, call me if you need something, I can-- I don’t know, call a cab or something. Be careful?”  
  
“Of course,” Dean assured him, leaning forward to give Sam a kiss. “I always am.” He kissed him again. “I love you,” he breathed, pulling back to look Sam in the eye.  
  
“Love you,” Sam echoed before he nodded and stood up, picking Dylan up off the other bed. He turned back around and sighed, stepping towards Dean. “Say goodbye to him,” he said softly, holding Dylan up to him.  
  
Dean leaned down and gave Dylan a kiss on the forehead, smiling down at him. “Night, Dylan. Don’t bother Mommy too much, ‘kay?” He gave him another kiss then smiled at Sam. “I feel like Dad,” he said, chuckling softly.  
  
Sam smiled at him and sighed, rubbing Dylan’s back. “Bye,” he said quietly as Dean tucked a gun in the waistband of his pants.  
  
“Bye,” Dean replied, going to the door. “And Sam, try and get some sleep, please.”  
  
Sam nodded and sighed as Dean opened the door, walking out into the cool night air. Sam pressed a kiss to Dylan’s forehead then sat back down on the bed, toeing off his shoes. He looked around the motel room and sighed again, but perked up when he remembered the coffee machine in the lobby. Slipping his shoes back on, he grabbed some change from his duffel and made sure that the Impala was out of the parking lot before opening up the door, pulling up the hood on Dylan’s tiny hoodie.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
The smell of smoke and beer filled Dean’s nostrils as he walked into the bar, smiling to a young lady who walked by him. He pushed past the people and made his way to the bar, taking a seat. “A beer,” he said to the bartender, looking around the room. He smiled his thanks for the beer and popped the top off, bringing the bottle to his mouth. He sighed and set the bottle down and continued examining the crowd as discreetly as he could. Well, everyone in the room was in human form, so it wasn’t exactly child’s play to pick out a werewolf. He turned a bit on the stool and took another drink of beer, trying to get a good look at their hands or any jewellery they may have had on. “Silver, silver,” he muttered, looking around.  
  
There was microphone feedback and Dean looked up, noticing the small instrument set-up at the back of the bar for the first time. He leaned back and watched the four guys finish up the sound check. Dean studied the four, trying to decide if any of them could be the wolf. Well, the lead singer had a silver necklace around his neck. So did the lead guitar. And the drummer. But the bass player didn’t. Dean frowned and set his beer down, studying the bass player. It was Paul, Will London’s little brother. “Well that’s interesting,” Dean murmured. Dean couldn’t see Paul’s hands, so couldn’t see if there were the five dots of a pentacle on one of them or not, but the silver necklace _did_ seem to be a theme of the band he wasn’t participating in. He turned to the bartender, getting his attention. “Hey, who are the Metallica wannabes?”   
  
The bartender glanced over and shrugged. “They play here every once in awhile. _Assembly Required_ , or something, I don’t know.”  
  
Dean nodded, pretending to be interested. “Any good?”  
  
“Depends on your definition,” the bartender replied, before going off to someone else at the counter.  
  
Dean nodded then grabbed his cell phone, speed dialling Sam’s number.   
  
Sam set his coffee cup down and grabbed his phone, clearing his throat. “Hey.”  
  
“Hey, Sammy, wanna do a favour for me?” Dean asked, glancing around the bar.  
  
Sam nodded, trying to calm himself down enough to speak. “Ye-- yeah. What’s going on?”  
  
“There’s this band here tonight, Assembly Required,” Dean began. “The bartender says they’re here every once in awhile.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam said, eyeing his coffee cup.  
  
“Three guys in the band are wearing the same silver necklace,” Dean continued, “but the bass player isn’t. And guess who the bass player is?”  
  
Sam shrugged, slouching down in his seat a bit. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Will London’s brother, Paul,” Dean answered, the grin evident in his voice.  
  
“As in, the _victim_ , Will London?” Sam asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Now, I can’t see his hands, but I’m thinking, Paul equals wolf.”  
  
“So what do you want me to do?” Sam asked, finally just reaching out to the coffee. He took a small sip then moaned in content.  
  
“Sam, you okay?” Dean asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam answered quickly, “just a little tired.”  
  
“Cross-check the dates of the shows to the wolf attacks,” Dean explained. “If they match, I’m going after the bass player.”  
  
“Sure,” Sam said, turning his laptop around to face him. He glanced over to the bed, making sure Dylan was still safe and began typing. “Assembly Required shows at McCoy’s … April nineteenth, May seventh, May twenty-fifth, June first, June third and tonight, June ninth.”  
  
“Well, I know the first and third had attacks,” Dean said, grabbing his bottle of beer. “What about the April and May dates?”  
  
Sam did a bit more typing and searching before he found the list of attack dates. “April nineteenth, May seventh and May twenty-fifth,” Sam said, voice getting softer with every date. “He’s going to do it again tonight. Dean, just-- just get out of there. We can leave and go back home.”  
  
“Sam, now that I know who it is, this is going to be simple,” Dean said, smiling politely to a patron as they pushed by. “I’ll just shoot him. I’ll be home in a couple hours.”  
  
“Wait, Dean--” Sam started, but was cut off by the dial tone. He turned off his phone and set it down, taking a large gulp of his coffee. He sighed and looked around the room, deciding he could use another cup. He grabbed more change and slipped his feet into his sneakers, going straight to the door. “Mommy will be right back, Dylan,” he said softly, slipping out the door.  
  
Dean began twisting his ring around his finger, studying Paul. He had to see his hand, or get silver on him. Somehow. Suddenly, Paul set his bass down and left the stage area, going into the bathroom. Dean smiled softly and stood up, following him into the grungy bathroom. He smiled politely to Paul and walked over to the only other urinal in there, unzipping his pants.  
  
“You following me or something?” the bass player asked, glancing over at Dean.  
  
Dean smirked, raising an eyebrow as he shook his head. “Sorry, you’re just not my type.”  
  
“Joking,” he said, breaking out into a grin. “Sorry man, I just like teasing people.” He zipped up his pants and walked over to the sink, Dean staying at the urinal for only a couple more seconds before doing the same. “Wait, aren’t you Mark? You were just at my house yesterday.”  
  
Dean pulled off his ring and set it on the counter, proceeding to wash his hands. He studied Paul for a second, before smiling. “Oh yeah, I guess I was. Paul, right? You in the band?”  
  
He nodded. “Bass player,” he said, giving another nod.  
  
“Nice,” Dean smiled and grabbed a piece of paper towel. He reached out for his ring and ‘accidentally’ knocked it off the counter, sending it to the floor. “Shit,” Dean muttered, throwing out his paper towel. “See where it went?”  
  
Paul looked around, checking under the counter. “Oop, I see it.” He crouched down and grabbed onto the ring. “Fuck,” he gritted through his teeth, automatically dropping the ring.  
  
“You okay?” Dean asked, crouching down to grab his ring. He slipped it on then stood up, offering his hand to Paul.  
  
Paul just glared up at Dean, sucking his burnt finger into his mouth. “I’m fine,” he said, shaking his hand, trying to cool it down. He turned his hand over to examine it, before he suddenly snatched it back. “I gotta go finish sound check,” he muttered, pushing past Dean.  
  
Dean let him go, but smirked once he was out of the bathroom. He had already seen the five dots on his palm before Paul had snatched it away. He turned and walked out of the bathroom, taking his seat again at the bar. He took a drink of his beer and smiled as Assembly Required began playing their first song.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
By the end of their set, Dean was on his third beer and just about ready to make sure Assembly Required was never put together again. He was just about ready to listen to Sam’s advice and pack up and leave, before the band finally left the stage, the other three members going to the bar to get drinks, but Paul slinked away, almost disappearing into the crowd, but Dean managed to keep his eyes on him. He set his beer down and wiped his upper lip, following Paul through the swarm of people through the back exit, stepping into the cool night air. He stayed by the door, watching Paul walk off a few feet into the field behind the bar. He wasn’t going to shoot until Paul transformed, but he had his hand on his gun, ready.  
  
Paul only walked far enough away so no one could hear the sounds he made during his transformation, and soon stopped in the field. He kicked off his shoes and pulled off his shirt, dropping it by his shoes.   
  
Dean sighed and averted his eyes, watching the sky as Paul stripped down. He pulled the gun out of his waistband and checked the barrel. He sighed again then checked on Paul, who had begun his transformation. Dean checked his watch and leaned against the door, tapping the gun against his palm.  
  
Finally, minutes later, Paul was done and growling, circling around in the field like he had already caught his prey.  
  
Dean pushed himself up off the door and cocked his head to the side, studying Paul. He had never really _liked_ hunting werewolves, something about the fact that he had seen them before they had become the creature, and he knew that most really hadn’t chosen to become a wolf, but he wasn’t killing Paul, he was killing the wolf, and the wolf had already killed five people. He got his gun up and focused it on Paul, following him in the field.  
  
Paul turned around and growled, eyes focused on Dean.  
  
Dean smirked as if to say, ‘come and get me’ and braced himself, ready to shoot.   
  
Paul began bounding towards Dean, teeth and claws at the ready, snarling.  
  
Dean gulped and backed up, just a bit to the door, but kept the gun up.   
  
Paul picked up speed and snapped his jaw as he jumped up, ready to attack Dean.  
  
Dean didn’t react fast enough and Paul slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Dean yelled in pain and struggled under Paul, just trying to keep his head away from Paul’s teeth and reached out to the gun that had been knocked out of his hand. He cried out in pain as Paul’s claws dug into the flesh on his shoulder but he pushed Paul off him as much as he could, grabbing onto the gun. He quickly aimed and shot, missing.   
  
“What the _hell_ was that?” the bartender asked, throwing his dishrag over his shoulder. He waited a couple seconds, listening closely. He heard someone scream and looked around, seeing if anybody else noticed.  
  
“Fuck!” Dean screamed, trying to elbow Paul in the face. “Get off of me!”  
  
The bartender walked to the back exit and opened up the door, jaw dropping when he realized what the hell was going on. “Wolf!” he screamed back to one of the patrons, grabbing a shotgun from behind the door.  
  
“Oh Christ,” Dean muttered, wiggling under Paul. “Would you get off me?” he screamed, shooting blindly again.  
  
The patron ran over to the door and looked outside. “Well, holy shit, shoot it!”  
  
“Don’t shoot it!” Dean yelled, trying to look back at them. “I can handle it!” He pulled the trigger again and this time Paul snarled in pain, blood seeping out onto Dean. Dean used the advantage and pushed Paul off him completely, standing up to aim the gun again.  
  
Paul was on the ground, growling meekly, legs still moving as he tried to push himself back up.   
  
Dean shot again, in the head this time, and Paul finally stopped moving. Dean stuck his gun back in his waistband then looked up to the door, smiling weakly.  
  
“Shit dude, you’re bleeding,” the bartender said, pointing towards his chest. “You’re going to need a rabies shot. I can’t believe it, a fucking wolf attack.”  
  
“I’m-- I’m fine, really,” Dean nodded, backing away slowly, keeping an eye on Paul to see if he had begun to transform back yet. “I’m gonna go, I’ll get my brother to drive me to the hospital.”  
  
“You sure?” the patron asked. “It looks bad.”  
  
Dean grinned, nodding. “Yeah, been worse. I’ll catch you guys later.” He glanced down at Paul and swallowed hard, hoping the two men didn’t notice the wolf was starting to look less and less like a wolf with each second. “Bye.” He turned around and began to jog around the bar.  
  
“Wait!” the bartender yelled. “It’s a fucking person!”  
  
Dean cringed and burst out into a run, pain shooting through his chest as he made it to the front of the bar, skidding to a stop by the Impala. He climbed in and quickly got the keys in the ignition, not even looking up to see if either of the men had followed him. He peeled out of the parking lot and drove for a couple minutes, breathing heavily, blood seeping through his shirt. Dean glanced back and saw that no one was following him, so he pulled off the road, glancing down at his chest. “Fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head. He pulled off his jacket and dropped it on the passenger seat, pressing his palm to his wound, hissing in pain. “Goddamnit.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean shut off the engine and sighed, leaning back in his seat. “Fuck,” he muttered, reaching up to rub his face. He checked the bleeding on his chest, not sure which blood was his or Paul’s, and opened up the door, climbing out of the car. He made his way to their room and opened the door, walking in. He smiled when he saw Dylan on one of the beds, and shut the door behind him. “Hi Dylan, where’s Mommy?” He pulled off his bloody t-shirt, wiping off some of the dried blood on his chest and walked over to the bed, picking Dylan up.   
  
Dylan stirred in his arms and sneezed into Dean’s chest.  
  
Dean chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to his head, before setting him back down on the bed. “Is Mommy in the bathroom?” He stood up and knocked on the door, before pushing it open. It was empty. Dean’s eyes filled with confusion and he ran back out into the room, not sure what to do. He reached into his pocket and grabbed onto his cell phone, calling Sam. Suddenly, a phone in the room began to ring. Dean walked over to the sound and found Sam’s cell phone on the table. Dean shut off his own phone and Sam’s phone stopped ringing. “Shit,” Dean muttered, dropping his phone. He began pacing around, having no idea what could have happened to Sam. Sam wouldn’t’ve left Dylan here alone.  
  
The door opened up and Dean turned around, looking at Sam in shock.  
  
“Oh, hi, Dean,” Sam said, walking into the room. “You’re okay?” His eyes dropped do Dean’s chest. “Oh my god, Dean, you’re--”  
  
“Where the hell were you?” Dean asked angrily, stepping towards Sam. Finally, he noticed the coffee cup in Sam’s hand. He looked around the room and saw several other empty coffee cups, plus two empty cans of soda and a bottle that looked suspiciously like a bottle of caffeine pills. “You left him alone!” Dean snapped, pushing Sam into the door, spilling Sam’s coffee onto him.  
  
Sam gasped and groaned through the shot of pain, eyes squeezed shut. “Dean, I was only gone a couple--”  
  
Dean pushed Sam even harder up against the door, arm pressed to Sam’s neck. “If you ever, _ever_ endanger him that like that again, I’ll kill you, I swear. You _really_ want to hurt him, don’t you?”  
  
“Dean, no,” Sam began, but stopped when Dean pressed his arm harder against his neck, beginning to cut off his air supply. “Dean,” he gasped and tried to push Dean away from him, but Dean just kept pressing harder. “Dean, please, let go.”  
  
“How can you want to hurt him?” Dean demanded, finally letting go of Sam, but he stayed close to him, up in his face. “He is our son, and you want to hurt him!”  
  
“I told you, I don’t know!” Sam cried. “I don’t-- I want-- I can’t take care of him. I look at him, and sometimes I love him, and I’ve never loved anything more and then sometimes I just-- I want to hurt him sometimes, Dean, I do, and I’m sorry, but I can’t stop. I tried to stop and hide it and just-- just get better and I can’t.”  
  
“You left our baby alone,” Dean gritted, eyes full of anger and hate. “I’m serious, Sam. You _ever_ do it again, and I’ll leave you, and take Dylan with me. You will _never_ see him again.” He walked over to Dylan, picking him up, rocking him gently. “It’s okay, Dylan, Daddy’s here. Daddy’s going to take care of you.” He sat down on the bed, glaring at Sam. “Let’s not even talk about how you’re drinking coffee.”  
  
Sam looked down in shame, studying the brown stain on his shirt and sighed, sliding down the door, resting his head on his knees. “I-- it made my migraine go away,” he offered up weakly, glancing up at Dean. “Dean, I can’t stop. It’s just so much easier to--” he groaned as he could feel his heart rate pick up the pace, pounding in his chest. He clutched at his chest, closing his eyes as flashes of zigzagging light began appearing. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop his muscles from twitching and trembling.   
  
“Sam, stop it,” Dean commanded, the anger still evident in his voice.  
  
Sam shook his head and clutched at himself, tears filling his eyes. Dean was becoming blurry in front of him and his voice had sounded like he was underwater. “Make it stop,” he muttered, groaning through a stomach pain that was almost worse than when his contractions had started. He cried out and fell over to his side, staring up at the ceiling. Faceless figures began flying in and out of his vision and he shut his eyes, but they were still there.   
  
Dean stood up off the bed, stepping towards Sam. “Sam?” he asked softly, taking another step.  
  
Sam’s long body was still for another moment before he began convulsing.  
  
Dean could only watch in horror for the few seconds that seemed like hours before Sam’s body finally stopped jerking. “Sam?” he asked again.  
  
Sam didn’t reply, just twitched once more, groaning.  
  
Dean grabbed his cell phone and dialled 911.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam’s eyes flickered open and he looked around the white hospital room, before his eyes finally fell on Dean, who was holding Dylan and watching Sam intently. He just swallowed, didn’t say anything and looked away from Dean, ashamed.  
  
“I told the doctors why it happened,” Dean said finally, breaking the silence. “I had to Sam. They had to know how to treat you.”  
  
Sam swallowed hard again and nodded, staring at the ceiling. “Am I in trouble?”  
  
Dean shook his head. “No, you’re not in trouble. They suggested that I stay with you for the next few days, take care of you, make sure you can’t get your hands on any caffeine, but you and I both know I’ve gotta work, Sam.”  
  
Sam nodded again. “I know,” he said, voice scratchy.  
  
“They think you should go to like, a therapy group or something,” Dean continued on. “Like narcotics anonymous or something.”  
  
“I don’t need therapy,” Sam said, watching the wall, avoiding Dean’s eyes. “I don’t want therapy.”  
  
“Sam, you had a seizure!” Dean reminded him angrily. “You had enough caffeine yesterday to _overdose_ on it, so don’t you dare tell me you don’t need help. It’s pretty obvious you can’t do this alone. I left you alone for what; two, maybe three hours, and you had eight cups of coffee. I counted Sam. It would’ve been nine, if I hadn’t come back. And where the hell did you get more caffeine pills?”  
  
“Whatever,” Sam muttered, rolling over onto his side. “When do I get out of here?”  
  
“I think you need help, Sammy,” Dean said softly, the anger finally leaving his voice, since it was obvious that was getting him nowhere. “I’m scared, Sam. You’re my little brother, okay? And I need you to be okay, and you’re-- you’re just _not_. Please, I don’t know why you think that-- that you have to be like Superman or something here, because you don’t. I can take care of Dylan, and I want to take care of you. Let me take care of you, Sammy. Let me be your big brother again, for once. Let me help you.” He stood up and sat down on the edge of Sam’s bed, reaching out to his back, but Sam just jerked away. “You don’t have to do this on your own anymore. It’s going to be okay.”  
  
“Stop lying to me,” Sam said softly, still not looking at Dean. “I know it’s not going to be okay, Dean. We’ve never been okay. We’re never going to _be_ okay.”  
  
Dean took a deep breath and sighed, sitting back down. He shifted Dylan on his lap, letting his finger get wrapped up in Dylan’s tiny grip. “I, uh--” he sniffled, “I’m sorry you feel that way, Sammy.” He sighed again. “How long?” he asked quietly. “How long have you felt this way? Since he was born?”  
  
Sam whimpered and shook his head, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. “At first, it was just, I was jealous, and I wanted you to spend time with _me_ , love _me_ , not him.”  
  
“Have you wanted to hurt yourself?” Dean asked, reaching over to Sam, rubbing his hand gently “Have you _tried_ to hurt yourself?”  
  
“Dean, I just overdosed on caffeine, what the hell do you think?” Sam snapped.   
  
“Jesus,” Dean breathed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry I couldn’t take care of you, like I was supposed to. I’m sorry I let it get that bad. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this.”  
  
“I don’t think you could’ve done anything,” Sam muttered, closing his eyes, tears running out.  
  
Dean leaned down again and kissed Sam’s cheek gently, brushing away his tears. He cleared his throat and pulled back. “Do you want me to stay, or leave and come back and get you?”  
  
Sam shrugged weakly, sobbing softly. “I just want you to get me home.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 9  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** Dean makes Sam an appointment to see a psychiatrist  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

 

**_two months old_**  
  
Sam stared up at the ceiling, trying to distinguish any differences between it and his and Dean’s. He sniffled and wiped at his nose, shifting on the mattress. He rolled over and then studied the floor that was so close to his eyes. He sighed and sat up, insomnia still getting to him. That’s why when Dean had kicked him out of their bedroom and into the spare, he hadn’t exactly argued. He groaned and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and glanced down at his watch. Six forty-seven. Dean would have to get up sometime in the next two hours and Sam _still_ hadn’t had any sleep. He took a deep breath and looked around again, pushing himself up off the mattress. He opened up the dresser drawers, looking to see if John had left anything behind.  
  
Dean was also awake in his bedroom, of course, he had actually gotten _some_ sleep. He could hear Sam moving around in the other room and he shook his head. “Go to sleep, Sam!” he yelled, lifting his head.  
  
Sam jumped slightly and turned around to face the door, before rolling his eyes. “Yes, Dean!” he yelled back, walking back over to the mattress, flopping down. He laid back down and pulled the sheets up, lying on his side. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, counting sheep. He got to twenty before he began to think the farmer herding the sheep looked like Dean and he smiled to himself, finally yawning softly. He rolled onto his back and just kept his eyes closed, eventually drifting off.  
  
Only to wake two hours later to the sound of Dean in his room. His eyes flickered open and he groaned, yawning again. He sat up a bit, leaning back on his elbows, watching Dean. “I thought you wanted me to get some sleep.”  
  
Dean glanced over at him, biting his lip. “Shit. I really didn’t mean to wake you up, I was just putting this--” he lifted a piece of paper and waved it, “on the dresser. You can get back to sleep.”  
  
Sam just raised his eyebrow, looking at Dean in disbelief. “I really don’t want to.”  
  
“Well, I don’t care what you want, Sam,” Dean said, turning to face him, “since it’s obvious that that isn’t working for us. You know, I _would_ give you sleeping pills, but I’m afraid you’d get addicted to those too.”  
  
Sam’s eyes narrowed and he frowned. “Ha. Ha,” he said sarcastically. “You know, you’re not being supportive.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “You don’t want my help, Sam. You don't want anybody's help.” He walked over to the door and had his hand on the knob, before he stopped. He turned around and crouched down by the bed, pressing a kiss to Sam’s forehead. “I should be home around six,” he said, pushing himself back up. “Call me if you need me.”  
  
Sam nodded and laid back down. “What about Dylan?” he asked.  
  
“Baby monitor,” Dean said, pointing over to the dresser. “But he’s been fed and changed and cuddled so he should be okay for a couple hours. Plenty of time for you to get some more shut eye. Oh, I got the breast pump thingy for you.”  
  
Sam blushed, scratching at his arm. “Yeah.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah. I guess that should help with the--” he gestured to Sam’s chest, “since it’ll be going somewhere.”  
  
Sam nodded again, playing with his sheets. He awkwardly looked around, not used to having to look up to Dean. “Okay. See ya at six.”  
  
Dean nodded and opened the door, closing it behind him before making his way down the hallway.  
  
Once Sam was sure Dean was gone, he pushed himself up off the mattress and walked over to the dresser, grabbing the piece of paper. He turned and leaned against the dresser, reading it. “ Sam, I made an … appointment for you today.” He raised an eyebrow. “Take Dylan, they said it’s okay.” He read the rest of his note and sighed, crumpling it up. He clucked his tongue a couple times and sighed again, listening to Dylan’s baby monitor for a second before climbing back into bed. “Be up by one,” he said to himself. “Call a cab and go to the doctor’s.” He yawned softly and closed his eyes, prepared to just lie there until Dylan cried. He didn’t expect himself to fall back asleep.  
  
When Sam awoke again, it was the sound of Dylan crying on the monitor, and through the walls. He laid there for a few seconds, just trying to collect himself before he pushed himself up, opening the door. He thought for a second, whether he should get the bottle then Dylan, or vice versa. He decided to grab Dylan first and pushed open the master bedroom door, going over to the crib. “Shh, baby, Mommy’s here.” He reached in and picked Dylan up, lifting him up to his chest, Dylan’s head on his shoulder. “Hi Dylan. Hi, shh, Mommy’s got you, Mommy’s got you. Shh.”  
  
Dylan’s screeching and shrieking didn’t subside, not even just a little bit, so Sam made his way up the hall and into the kitchen, going to the refrigerator to get a bottle. He popped it in the microwave for a couple of seconds, bouncing Dylan up and down.   
  
“Everybody knows where you go when the sun goes down. I think you only live to see the lights of town. I wasted my time when I would try, try, try, ‘cause when the lights have lost their glow you’ll cry, cry, cry. Soon your sugar daddies will all be gone, you’ll wake up some cold day and find you’re alone. You’ll call for me, but I’m gonna tell you bye, bye, bye. When I turn around and walk away, you’ll cry, cry, cry.” The microwave beeped a couple times and Sam grabbed the bottle. He shook some drops of formula onto his arm to check the temperature, deciding it was still cool enough. “Open up, Dylan,” he said softly, holding the bottle up to Dylan. “Yum yum,” he smacked his lips together a couple of times. “Mm, formula. Drink drink, Dylan.” Dylan finally took the bottle in and stopped crying, sucking on the nipple. “Wanna go to the doctor’s with Mommy today? Huh? I bet you do. Spend all day with Mommy, that’s what you’ll do.”  
  
Sam checked the clock on the microwave and saw that it said eleven thirty-seven. He still had about an hour before he had to call a cab to get to the doctor’s. _If_ he decided he was going. He still wasn’t too sure about that. He sighed and leaned against the counter, head back against the cupboards. “Do you want Mommy to go, Dylan? Do you want Mommy to get better?” He sighed again and pressed a kiss to Dylan’s head, glancing down at the bottle. “Mommy wants to get better for you, Dylan. But it’s not easy.” He set Dylan’s bottle down on the counter and held him up to his chest, patting Dylan’s back to burp him. “Let’s go watch some TV, baby, let’s go.” Sam walked into the living room and sat down on the couch.   
  
Dylan burped into Sam’s chest and began squirming, making faces up at Sam.  
  
Sam’s mouth opened wide and he gasped in mock shock. “Dylan! Do you know how old you are today?” He paused, as if waiting for Dylan to answer. “Two months old! Two months old, baby. Wow. Two months ago, you came into this world.” He gave Dylan a kiss, holding him up as best he could. “If it wasn’t for you, Dylan … I think Daddy would’ve left me by now. Mommy’s messed up a couple times since you’ve been around.” He gave Dylan another kiss. “I love you, Dylan. I wish you could say it back. Daddy hasn’t said it in a couple days.” He took a deep breath and sat up a bit straighter when he heard his cell phone ring. “Oof,” he said softly, pushing himself up awkwardly. He jogged down the hall and bumped open his bedroom door, going over to the dresser. “Uh…” he said, glancing down at his phone then at Dylan. He walked over to the bed and laid Dylan down gently, going back to grab his phone. “Hello?”  
  
“Hey, Sammy,” came John’s voice, a smile evident in his voice. “What’s going on?”  
  
“Dad!” Sam said in surprise. “What-- what’s going on? How are you?”  
  
“Good,” John replied. “Just wanted to check in. Talk to Dylan, wish him happy birthday.”  
  
“Oh, of course,” Sam said, walking back over to the bed. He sat down and placed the phone down by Dylan’s ear.  
  
“Hi Dill Pickle,” John said softly. “Happy birthday big boy. How’ve you been?”  
  
“It’s Grampie, Dylan,” Sam said quietly, rubbing Dylan’s stomach. “Say hi to Grampie.”  
  
Dylan cooed and made a face again, grabbing at his feet.   
  
Sam took the phone away and held it back up to his ear. “You get all that?”  
  
John chuckled. “So how’s it been, Sam? How’s Dean?”  
  
Sam swallowed. “It-- it’s been good. We uh, well, Dean got a hunt in. In Wisconsin. We just got back a couple days ago.”  
  
“What was it?” John asked.  
  
“Werewolf,” Sam answered, shifting on the bed. “I let Dean handle it, of course. I don’t-- I can’t really shoot a gun or anything anymore.”  
  
“Yup,” John said softly. There was only the sound of John breathing for a few seconds before he spoke again. “What are you doing, Sam? Drugs?”  
  
“What?” Sam asked in surprise. “Dad-- what are you--”  
  
“I called Dean before I called you,” John explained. “You overdosed.”  
  
“On caffeine, Dad,” Sam pointed out. “It’s not like I was shooting up, or something. It’s really not as bad as Dean thinks it is.”  
  
“You had a seizure,” John reminded him. “Caffeine pills? Eight cups of coffee in two hours? You left Dylan alone in a motel room. Sam, what are you doing? Are you _trying_ to get one of you killed?”  
  
“Is this why you called, Dad? To-- to--” Sam sighed, shaking his head when he couldn’t think of the right word. “I’m twenty-four years old, and I can make my own decisions.”  
  
“Well, they’re not the right ones, Sammy,” John told him. “I never would’ve left if I had known that you weren’t ready for the responsibility, Sam.”  
  
Sam snorted. “Yeah, you would have. You just would’ve felt guilty about it for awhile. Dad, I’m-- I’m dealing, okay? I'm not going to hurt Dylan anymore and I'm not going to hurt myself. I even have a doctor’s appointment today. I’m taking Dylan.”  
  
“Dean told me,” John said. “I’m really glad to hear that you’re actually going.”  
  
Sam sighed. “So where are you, Dad? Are you okay? Is everything okay?”  
  
“I’m in Jackson,” John answered, “and I’m fine, everything is fine. I just wanted to check up on all three of my boys.”  
  
Sam smiled at that. “Well I’m glad you did. I was kind of missing ya. Dad, can-- can I talk to you? About some of this stuff?”  
  
John sighed and grinned to himself. “Anytime, Sammy, anytime.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam sighed as he set Dylan’s carrier down, opening the door. He awkwardly kept the door open with his backside as he leaned down and picked up the carrier, slipping into the lobby. He looked around and saw the receptionist, making his way over. “Uh, hi, I have an appointment today,” he said to the receptionist, flashing a smile.  
  
“Name?” the receptionist asked, not even looking up.  
  
“Sam Winchester,” he answered, bouncing up and down on his feet. “Um, I didn’t make this appointment, so what uh, what kind of doctor is Doctor Tanner?”  
  
“Psychiatrist,” the receptionist answered. “He should be ready for you in a few minutes.”  
  
Sam smiled again and walked away, going over to the corner of the waiting area with the toys. He sat down and unbuckled Dylan from his carrier, lifting him out. “Look Dylan, look it. All the toys, wow. What do you wanna play with first, huh?” He reached out and grabbed a block, handing it to Dylan. “We don’t have toys like this at home.” He reached out and grabbed a rattle, shaking it in front of Dylan, laughing when Dylan threw the block down to reach at the rattle. “Don’t get grabby, Dyl.” He pressed a kiss to Dylan’s head, letting him grab onto the rattle. “Big boy,” he said, lifting Dylan up onto his lap. “Oof. What are you eating, Dylan?”  
  
“Mr. Winchester?” the receptionist called.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes.   
  
“Doctor Tanner’s ready for you,” she finished.  
  
Sam sighed and set Dylan in his carrier, before pushing himself up. He grabbed onto Dylan’s carrier and walked over to the receptionist. “Where is he?”  
  
“Just down the hall,” she answered.  
  
Sam made his way down the hall, smiling down at Dylan. He stopped at the door that read Tanner and set the carrier down, opening up the door.  
  
“Sam?” Doctor Tanner asked, looking up from his desk.  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam nodded, picking Dylan’s carrier up again. He walked in and smiled, setting the carrier down by the foot of his chair. He offered his left hand out to Doctor Tanner.  
  
Doctor Tanner looked a bit surprised before he took Sam’s hand, shaking it heartily. “Please, sit,” he said, nodding towards the chair.   
  
Sam smiled gratefully and took his seat, smiling down at Dylan. “I uh, I want you to know, I didn’t make this appointment. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing here.”  
  
“Your partner, Dean, called me, and said you needed someone to talk to,” Doctor Tanner explained, peering at Sam over his glasses. “That’s your son?”  
  
Sam nodded, a proud smile on his face. “This is Dylan.”  
  
Doctor Tanner nodded. “Dean mentioned to me that you were having some problems with caffeine addiction and depression. That you tried to hurt yourself a couple days ago.”  
  
Sam’s smile disappeared and his eyes dropped, studying his lap. “I uh … I don’t know. I guess you could say that. It’s just-- I don’t know if I feel comfortable, telling everything to some stranger.”  
  
“Well, let’s start off with your early life,” Doctor Tanner suggested. “Where you were born?”  
  
“Kansas,” Sam said slowly, not quite sure why that was important. “But, we moved a little after I turned six months old.”  
  
“Why is that?” Doctor Tanner asked, making a few notes on his notepad in front of him.  
  
“My, uh-- my mother died,” Sam said softly. “My dad didn’t take it very well. We moved around a _lot_ when I was younger.”  
  
“What about when you were older?” Tanner asked, making more notes.  
  
“We-- we settled down a bit when I was in high school,” Sam answered. “My schoolwork was very important to me.”  
  
Tanner nodded, making a small noise. “How were your grades?”  
  
Sam beamed proudly again. “Straight A’s. I got a full ride to Stanford.”  
  
Tanner raised an eyebrow, nodding in approval. “Very nice. I assume you took it.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I-- I went for four years, but I, uh-- I had to leave. After awhile.”  
  
“What happened then?” Tanner asked, looking up at Sam.  
  
Sam swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Uh, I-- I had a girlfriend, Jessica. She … she died, and I just couldn’t stay. I left with Dean.”  
  
“How long have you known Dean?” Tanner asked, finally dropping his pen.  
  
“Oh, my whole life,” Sam answered quickly. “He’s my best friend.”  
  
“Sounds like a healthy relationship,” Tanner observed. “So what’s the problem there?”  
  
“There _is_ no problem,” Sam told him. “We’re fine. I mean, we fight, but doesn’t every cou--”  
  
“Dean told me that you’ve walked out before,” Tanner interrupted, studying Sam.  
  
Sam’s mouth opened wide. “I never walked out on him. I mean, not-- not really. I _almost_ did. Once.”  
  
Tanner raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Twice,” Sam admitted softly, slouching down in his chair. “I never really had any intention of doing it. I mean, I just-- it was just to get Dean to apologize.”  
  
“That’s not a sign of a good relationship, Sam,” Doctor Tanner said condescendingly. “Why don’t you tell me about your son? How do you feel about being a father? Is it hard?”  
  
Sam shrugged before nodding, fingers picking at his jeans. “Yeah, it’s hard,” he said. “I mean, I don’t-- I’d never been around kids before, I wasn’t really sure what to do.”  
  
Doctor Tanner nodded understandingly.   
  
“And it _is_ hard, but I want nothing more than to be better at it,” Sam continued. “He deserves two good parents and he really only has one right now. I’m trying though, I am. I thought I was getting better at it, I thought I could do it. I guess I couldn't. I guess I can't.”  
  
“How important is Dylan to you, Sam?” Tanner asked, setting his pen down again.  
  
“Most of the time, he’s the most important thing in the world to me,” Sam said, smiling down at Dylan, waggling his fingers down at him.  
  
“Most of the time?” Tanner frowned.  
  
Sam nodded, embarrassed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I-- I love him, I _do_ , I swear I do, because he’s my son and I love him but then sometimes…I wish he wasn’t here, I wish he was gone.”  
  
Tanner nodded, bringing his hands together on the desk. “What do you love about him?”  
  
Sam smiled weakly. “He-- he doesn’t judge me, like Dean does. He’s so innocent, and sweet. Doesn’t know what the world can do.”  
  
“What has the world done to you, Sam?” Tanner asked carefully.  
  
“Killed my mom,” Sam said softly. “Killed my girlfriend. Made me like this. Almost killed me and Dean.”  
  
“Does that have to do with your hand?” Tanner asked, nodding towards Sam’s right hand that was sitting on the desk.   
  
Sam looked down in embarrassment, dropping his hand from the desk. “Ye-- yeah. We were … beaten up, outside the movie theatre. Dean was in a coma for almost two weeks. I didn’t know if he’d ever wake up again.”  
  
“Did that scare you, Sam? Getting beaten up?” Tanner asked.   
  
Sam nodded furiously. “I can usually take care of myself. I’m strong, and-- and I can fight. I’m good at it. I was trained to fight. But Dean wouldn’t let me. He wanted to protect me. And he almost died for it. He thinks he’s immortal.” He sighed.  
  
“Does the idea of a world without Dean scare you?” Tanner asked, leaning forward in his chair a bit.  
  
Sam nodded, looking down at his lap again. “Of course it does. I’m obviously not the strongest person. I guess that’s why Dean thought I needed to talk to someone. I like getting my way, and when I don’t, I get kind of angry, I guess.”  
  
Tanner sighed and nodded, writing something down on his notepad. “But what does that have to do with Dean, Sam?”  
  
“Dean takes care of me,” Sam admitted. “He keeps me in check. He’s better at taking care of Dylan, he’s the one who can work. I can’t really … do much, now, without my hand. Dean’s the one that drives. He pays all our bills. He’s just better at _everything_ than I am. Without him, I’d just … fall apart, I guess. Well, fall apart even more.”  
  
“Is that why you felt you needed to take the caffeine pills, Sam?” Tanner asked, leaning back in his chair again.  
  
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”  
  
“Maybe you thought that you needed to keep up with Dean, to prove to yourself that you could take care of yourself,” Tanner suggested. “Maybe you wanted to do something that Dean wasn’t in control of for once. You say he’s the one who pays the bills, drives you around, takes better care of Dylan ...”  
  
Sam nodded.   
  
“... For once, maybe being able to take those pills, drink that coffee, gave you the ability to do something for yourself,” Tanner finished. “How does that sound?”  
  
“Is that your professional opinion?” Sam asked, lifting his head.  
  
Tanner smiled, shaking his head. “No, Sam, it’s just a suggestion. Just because I'm a doctor means I'm right all the time. Why don’t you tell me why _you_ think that you started taking those pills?”  
  
Sam shrugged again. “I can’t do this. I really can’t. I thought I could take care of a baby, of a child, be responsible for someone else’s life, but I can’t. The only thing to protect Dylan from is me. And then Dean has to work. He needs his sleep. And I just-- I always feel like I’m not doing enough with Dylan, so I thought that if _I_ could be the one who got up with him at night and took care of him, then Dean wouldn’t think I’m lazy or something.”  
  
“Has Dean ever called you lazy?” Tanner asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding. “Once, when we were fighting. I-- I said I was going to bed and he said something like, I always go to bed when we fight. And then it just turned into some big _thing_ , and he said that I was a freeloader, because I didn’t have a job.”  
  
Tanner nodded slowly. “Is that one of the times you almost walked out?”  
  
Sam nodded again. “It was just easier, I guess. I mean, he was telling the truth.” He sighed and began picking at the sleeve of his hoodie. He cleared his throat and glanced up at Doctor Tanner. “I left Dylan alone, in our motel room. To go get a coffee. Dean was so angry when he found out. I don’t know if I’d ever seen him that angry before.” He cleared his throat again. “I left a two-month-old baby alone in a motel room because I wanted a coffee. That makes me a bad person, doesn’t it?”  
  
Tanner shrugged. “A lot of people are addicts, Sam. It doesn’t make them bad people. It makes them people with bad problems. I don’t think you’re a bad person at all. So Sam, we know why you love Dylan and why you decided to drink the coffee, but at one point in that night, you must've realized you were taking enough to damage yourself. Why'd you keep going?"  
  
"You mean, why'd I try and hurt myself?" Sam clarified.  
  
Tanner nodded. "Yeah, why'd you try and hurt yourself?"  
  
Sam stared at the desk in front him as he started to shake, from nerves, from lack of caffeine, from trying to keep his tears in. "Because Dean and Dylan would do better without me. Because I'm the only one screwing up and both of them would just be better off if I wasn't around." Sam sighed and reached down, picking Dylan up, cradling him. “Dylan John. He’s two months old today. I told Dean that he’s the only good thing I’ve ever done. But now, I realize that I don’t really have much to do with him. Dean's the one who takes real good care of him. I’m the one messing him up.”  
  
“What about straight A’s?” Tanner asked. “That’s quite the accomplishment. A full ride to Stanford. Those all seem like good things.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. But I mean, I didn’t even graduate, I left. It was for nothing. Dylan-- Dylan’s _for_ something.”  
  
“What’s he for?” Tanner asked.  
  
“He’s supposed for me to love, and to take care of,” Sam said softly, reaching up to stroke the soft hair on Dylan’s head. “But I'm not good at that. He’s for the world. Because he’s going to make it better.”  
  
Tanner smiled. “You have very high aspirations for Dylan.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Of course I do. He’s my son.” He gave Dylan a kiss then sighed. “Any other questions?”  
  
Tanner thought for a moment. “Do you love Dean?” he asked finally.  
  
Sam sighed and studied Doctor Tanner for a moment. “Ye-- yeah, of course I do.”  
  
Tanner nodded. “Do you really? Or do you love that he takes care of you? That he pays the bills, takes care of Dylan? That he loves you?”  
  
Sam took a deep breath and looked down at Dylan, thinking long and hard about his answer before he spoke again.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean pushed open the apartment door and walked in, hanging his keys up on the hook. “Sam?” he called, toeing off his shoes. He sighed and walked in further, looking around. “Sam?” he called again. He finally saw Sam and Dylan, both lying on the living room floor. Dylan was awake, kicking his legs and reaching up, while Sam was asleep, long legs stretched out, head resting on his arms. Dean smiled at that and crouched down, pressing a kiss to Sam’s cheek.  
  
Sam murmured and stirred, but he didn’t wake up, just shifted on the floor.  
  
Dean smiled and stood up, going into the kitchen. He went to the refrigerator and grabbed a can of soda, popping the top. He walked back into the living room and sat down on the floor by Sam, taking a drink. He rubbed Sam’s back slowly, comfortingly. “Hey, Sammy.”  
  
Sam groaned and rolled over, eyes flickering open. “Hey,” he said, smiling up at him.  
  
“Hey Sammy,” Dean said softly. “How was the doctor’s?”  
  
Sam pushed himself up on his elbows, glancing over at Dylan. “It was good.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked in surprise.  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, it was good. He’s a nice guy.”  
  
Dean nodded, taking a sip of his soda. “You going back?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “He said I was welcome to.”  
  
“That’s good,” Dean said, leaning down to brush his lips against Sam’s forehead. “So what ya talk about?”  
  
Sam shrugged again. “A bit of everything, I guess.”  
  
Dean waggled his eyebrows. “Did _I_ come up?”  
  
Sam’s smile disappeared and he nodded. “Yeah, of course.” He sighed and tilted his head upwards, pressing a kiss to the only part of Dean’s face he could reach, his chin. “I _really_ love you, Dean.”  
  
Dean grinned down at him, pressing his lips to Sam’s. “I _really_ love you too, Sam.” He ruffled Sam’s hair, giving him another kiss. “So…you talked about the depression, right?”  
  
Sam dropped his eyes and nodded. “Yeah.”  
  
“Good,” Dean said, shifting on the floor. He reached up and set his soda on the coffee table, wrapping an arm around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him in. “Are you going to be okay now?” he asked quietly.  
  
Sam nodded again, rubbing Dean’s back, burying his face in Dean’s neck. “I think so.”  
  
“You’re not going to hurt yourself anymore?” Dean continued, taking a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm.  
  
Sam shook his head. “I’m not going to hurt myself anymore,” he assured him.  
  
“Good,” Dean nodded, pulling back. “‘Cause Sam, I mean, I can’t lose you. I can’t. But it’d be worse if you were the one that took you away from me.”  
  
Sam met Dean’s eyes and nodded, leaning in to give a quick kiss. “I’m going to get better, I promise. And I’m never going to hurt Dylan, I promise. I wouldn’t ever do that.”  
  
Dean nodded, giving Sam another quick hug. “I’m glad.”  
  
“I understand if you don’t trust me though,” Sam said softly, moving back a bit on the floor, careful not to hit Dylan. “I do. And I’m really sorry for all the times I’ve ever messed up, even before this whole thing.”  
  
“I forgive you,” Dean assured him. “And yeah, it might take a little while before I leave you alone with Dylan again.”  
  
Sam nodded.   
  
“But I forgive you,” Dean repeated. He leaned down and picked Dylan up, holding him up to his chest, “and Dylan does too.”  
  
Sam smiled, tears shining in his eyes. “When he grows up, I don’t want him to know. What I did. What was wrong with me. I don’t want him to think I never loved him.”  
  
“I won’t tell him,” Dean promised, “but if you ever change your mind, you can tell him.”  
  
Sam nodded, leaning over to kiss the back of Dylan’s head, causing him to stir in Dean’s arms. “I don’t think I’ll ever change my mind about that.”  
  
“You can-- you can talk to _me_ about it,” Dean offered, “if you want. I don’t want you to think that the only person you can talk about this to is the doctor. I’m here too.”  
  
“I know,” Sam said. “I just-- I don’t know-- I don’t want you to think less of me for anything I tell you.”  
  
Dean half-smiled and reached out, cupping Sam’s cheek softly. “Sam, I don’t mean to get all chick-flick on you here--”  
  
Sam smiled and laughed softly. “I’m sure.”  
  
“But I wouldn’t think any less of you,” Dean continued. “I know that this isn’t you; this is just something that’s wrong with you.” He shifted Dylan away from his chest and shimmied closer to Sam, carefully holding Dylan out to him.  
  
“What do you…” Sam began, trailing off, looking down at Dylan, who was asleep in Dean’s hands.  
  
“Take him, Sam,” Dean told him, “he’s your son.”  
  
Sam swallowed hard and took Dylan from Dean carefully, cradling Dylan, rocking him a bit. “I’m going to get better at this, Dean, I promise.”  
  
Dean smiled and nodded knowingly. “I’m not too worried about it. You’ve still got about eighteen years to get it right.”  
  
  
 

**CHARACTER PICTURES**  
I'll have these every once in awhile, just so everybody can see how I picture the characters  
[ Bob Carlton](http://i168.photobucket.com/albums/u190/lwlhdcharacters/bob.jpg), Dean's boss at the record store  
[ Dr. Tanner](http://i168.photobucket.com/albums/u190/lwlhdcharacters/drtanner.png), Sam's psychiatrist  
And of course, Dylan, when he was a [ newborn](http://i168.photobucket.com/albums/u190/lwlhdcharacters/Dylan/newborn.jpg) and [ a bit older](http://i168.photobucket.com/albums/u190/lwlhdcharacters/Dylan/twomonthsold.jpg)

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 10  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** While shopping at the grocery store, Sam and Dean run into a familiar face  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

 

**_two months and twenty-three days old_**  
  
Dean sighed, pulling the car to a stop in the parking lot. He glanced in the rear view mirror, checking on Dylan. “Good to go, Sammy?” he asked, glancing beside him.  
  
Sam nodded and climbed out of the car, closing the door behind him. He went to the back and opened up the door, unbuckling Dylan’s car seat, lifting it carefully out of the car. He set it down on the pavement and closed the door, picking the carrier up again. “Did you bring the list?” Sam asked, walking alongside Dean.  
  
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. “Sammy, I do not need a grocery list. Never have, never will.”  
  
Sam shook his head, smiling down at Dylan. “What would your daddy do without me, Dill Pickle?” He grabbed onto a piece of paper in his pocket, giving it to Dean.  
  
Dean glanced at the grocery list and sighed, but shoved it in his pocket anyway. “Well, first off, I’d probably have a lot more sex,” he smirked at Sam.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head, stepping into the supermarket, going over to the carts.   
  
“You gonna put that in here?” Dean asked, pulling a cart out.  
  
Sam nodded, walking over, setting Dylan’s carrier in the top of the cart, smiling down at Dylan, who was reaching up, playing with the rattles and shapes hanging off the handle. “Come on, Dylan; let’s go get something to eat. Yum.”  
  
“Not when you make it,” Dean muttered, leading the way.   
  
“Dean, do you _want_ me to hit you?” Sam shrieked, raising his hand in threat.  
  
Dean grinned, eyes bright. “Only if you promise to make it as kinky as possible.”  
  
Sam groaned and pushed the cart, stopping every few seconds to kiss Dylan. “Daddy’s so cwazy,” he said, glancing up as Dean threw something in the cart. “But Mommy loves him.”  
  
“I heard that!” Dean called, going a bit ahead.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam made a face down at Dylan, giggling when Dylan smiled up at him. He leaned in, giving him an Eskimo kiss. “Who wuves you Dylan, who wuves you? Mommy wuves you. Yes, I do.”  
  
“Sam, come on, we’re in public here!” Dean exclaimed, glancing back at Sam as he took a couple boxes of cereal off the shelves.   
  
Sam just rolled his eyes and leaned down, tickling Dylan’s stomach. “I wuve you, Dylan, do you wuve me too?”  
  
Dean sighed and dropped the cereals in the shopping cart, reaching out to rub Dylan’s head. “I wuve you too, Dylan,” he said softly, leaning in to give him a kiss. “Now what’s next on the list?”  
  
“Coffee,” Sam answered automatically.  
  
Dean studied Sam for a moment, trying to see if he was serious or not. “Sam, I don’t think--”  
  
“For _you_ , not me,” Sam explained, pushing the cart down the aisle. “I can deal with coffee in the apartment now, I promise.”  
  
Dean sighed and shook his head. “I don’t think so, Sammy. But thank you for offering.” He tossed a box of crackers in the cart.  
  
Sam smiled. “Doctor Tanner says he thinks I can handle it.” He reached into the cart and moved the cereal and crackers around.  
  
Dean nodded. “I know, Sammy, I know. I talked to him. I know you feel comfortable with it, but that doesn’t mean I do.” He led them down the next aisle, looking around. “How is that Doctor Tanner these days anyway?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “He’s fine.” He nodded towards something on the shelves and Dean reached up and grabbed it. “He thinks I’m getting better.”  
  
Dean smiled and sighed, leaning up to give Sam a quick kiss. “I know, Sammy, you just said that. I know you’re getting better, I can tell. Now, Oreos or Chocolate Chunk?”  
  
“Can’t we get both?” Sam asked, flashing a smile.  
  
Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, but grabbed both boxes anyway. “I swear, Sammy, we’re gonna be bankrupt someday.”  
  
Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “And when the bank asks why, you can just tell them I asked for two boxes of cookies instead of one.”  
  
Dean nodded, a serious look on his face. “Exactly. Now pick out a magazine.” They stopped in front of the magazine rack, studying the covers, when suddenly, they heard someone behind them.   
  
“Sam?”  
  
Sam and Dean both jumped a little, before turning around. Sam’s jaw dropped slightly and Dean sighed, staring in disbelief. “Sarah?”  
  
Sarah grinned widely and bounced up and down a bit before stepping forward, pulling Sam into a hug. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?” She pulled back, studying both of them. Then she finally noticed Dylan “Oh my god, whose baby is that?” She stepped towards Dylan, smiling down at him.  
  
Sam and Dean glanced at each other, unsure of what to say. “He’s mine,” Dean said finally, shrugging up at Sam.  
  
Sarah turned around. “What’s his name?”  
  
“Dylan,” Dean said, smiling proudly.   
  
She looked back to Dylan, smiling. “He’s so cute. So what are you two doing here? I thought were you still hunting, on the road and everything.”  
  
“We live here,” Sam answered, smiling slightly. “We uh, well after Dean got this little surprise, we decided to settle down, I guess. I help take care of him.”  
  
Sarah grinned. “Wow. You settled down … on the complete opposite side of the country to me.”  
  
Sam smiled apologetically and glanced at Dean, who was watching them both, lips pursed. “Yeah, sorry about that.” He chuckled nervously then turned to grab a magazine. “So wait, what about you? Why are you in California?”  
  
“I’m visiting my cousin, Julia,” Sarah replied. “God, I can’t believe this, what are the odds?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Pretty good, I guess.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess,” she agreed. “It’s been awhile, Sam,” she said softly, smiling up at him.  
  
Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah, it has. We uh, I probably should’ve called you when we settled down, let you know. I’m sorry, I just-- with Dylan, we weren’t really thinking.”  
  
Sarah shrugged. “It’s okay. I just ...” She trailed off, looking up at Sam, the whisper of a smile gracing her lips. Then, noticing Dean, she coughed, shifting on the balls of her feet, and smiled pointedly raising an eyebrow at Dean, who got the message.  
  
“Uh, Sam, me and Dylan are going to be at the check-out,” Dean said, taking Sam’s place behind the cart. “See ya there.”  
  
Sam nodded and smiled, turning back to Sarah. “I just can’t believe … wow. So, how long are you here for?”  
  
“Just until Monday,” Sarah replied, reaching up to brush her bangs off her forehead. “So uh, I mean … how have you been Sam?”  
  
“Good, I’ve been good,” Sam answered. “What about you?”  
  
“Good,” Sarah said. “You know it would be nice to catch up some time while I’m in town, are you doing anything tomorrow night?”  
  
Sam swallowed hard, just staring at Sarah. “Uh, this tomorrow night?”  
  
Sarah nodded, chuckling softly. “I mean, I understand if you’re dating someone or something, but if you’re not … I’d really like to get dinner with you, or see a movie or something.” She smiled up at him, hands in her back pockets.  
  
Sam’s eyes opened wide and he smiled nervously, shoving his own hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “Um, yeah. Okay.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Wait, you said yes?” Dean cried, slamming the box of cereal down on the table. “What the hell, Sam? Call her; tell her you’re not single.”  
  
“Dean, what was I supposed to say? ‘Gee Sarah, I can’t have dinner with you ‘cause I’m fucking my brother. Oh, by the way, that kid? Yeah, I gave birth to him’,” Sam looked at Dean in disbelief. “I couldn’t tell her that, but I couldn’t tell her I had started dating another girl.”  
  
“You told that girl at the diner, Jessica’s friend, that I was your boyfriend,” Dean pointed out. “You couldn’t’ve just said, ‘I’m gay’? I mean, how friggin’ hard would that be?”  
  
“I already made out with _her_!” Sam cried, waving his hands around. “She’s knows I’m not gay!”  
  
Dean sighed and rubbed his face, not sure what to say. “Are you going to kiss her?” he asked finally, looking Sam in the eyes.  
  
Sam shook his head, a small smile gracing his features. “No, I’m not gonna kiss her.”  
  
“Yeah well, that’s the same for sex okay? ‘Cause you know, even hookers don’t kiss,” Dean told him, putting the cereal away.  
  
Sam’s eyes scrunched up and he shook his head. “And you would know this how? I thought Dean Winchester could get any girl he wants … unless you’ve been watching _Pretty Woman_ ” Sam started to chuckle, ducking as Dean tried to swipe him with the cereal box.  
  
“Oh ha-ha” Dean retorted, his face deadpan. He shrugged, “People, ya know, talk. I’ve known a couple guys who had to buy their pleasure.” He leaned up and gave Sam a long, lingering kiss. “Luckily for me…” he said, trailing off. “Uh, Sammy, you’re uh…” he gestured to Sam’s shirt.  
  
Sam looked at Dean in confusion for a second, before glancing down at his chest. “Shit!” He pulled on shirt, realizing that he hadn’t spilt something, and that he was in fact, leaking. “Oh Christ,” he muttered, turning quickly. He ran down the hall, going straight to the bedroom.  
  
Dean quickly dropped the package of cookies he had in his hand and followed Sam down in the hall. He walked into their bedroom, leaning against the doorframe. “Is everything okay?”  
  
Sam nodded furiously, grabbing a t-shirt out of the dresser. “Yeah, it just-- it happens. Sometimes. ‘Cause I don’t feed him anymore.” He unbuttoned his shirt as quickly as he could, using it to wipe at his chest.  
  
“Do you want me to go get Dylan?” Dean asked, ready to move.  
  
Sam glanced back at Dean, face completely blushed. “I-- I thought you didn’t want me to feed him anymore.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “You haven’t had any coffee for a couple weeks, I think it’s okay. Just for now, it’ll help with that.” He hurried down the hallway to the living room, dropping to his knees where Dylan lay on the floor on his blanket. He leaned down and gave Dylan a kiss, picking him up, bouncing him up and down lightly. “Okay, Dylan, let’s go get you something to eat.” He stood back up and walked down the hall to the bedroom again.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam sat down on the edge of the mattress and pulled off his shirt, dropping it on the floor. He groaned as he lifted his legs, climbing in beside Dean, lying on his side, facing Dean. “You okay?” he asked softly, fanning his hand out on Dean’s chest.  
  
Dean made a small sound and shrugged, glancing to Sam. “Yeah, I don’t know.”  
  
Sam bit his lip and studied Dean for a minute, moving in closer to him. “It’s about Sarah, isn’t it?”  
  
Dean nodded. “You promise you’re not going to kiss her?”  
  
Sam nodded. “I promise. I won’t kiss her, I won’t have sex with her, and I won’t lead her on. I’m just … having dinner with her. I promise, that’s it.”  
  
“You’ve kissed her before,” Dean pointed out, rolling onto his side to look at Sam. “You obviously liked her. What if she like, bats her eyes or flashes some cleavage? What are you going to do then?”  
  
Sam smiled against Dean, burying his face in his chest. “I’m a taken man, Dean. Don’t worry about it.” He gave Dean a kiss and smiled again. “And besides, not all men are as easy as you. I think I can hold her off.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam smiled awkwardly at Sarah, picking at the edge of his menu, dropping his eyes down. “So what have you been up to Sarah? How are things going?”  
  
Sarah took a sip of her soda and smiled, shifting in the booth. “Things are good, Sam. No more killer paintings, thanks to you and Dean.”  
  
Sam smiled at that and nodded, grabbing a fry.  
  
“But other than that, things are good,” she said again. “Just helping Dad with the paintings.”  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
“What about you?” Sarah asked. “Moving to California, Dean having a baby; that’s big stuff, Sam.”  
  
Sam nodded again. “Yeah, yeah, it is. I mean, Dylan was just _such_ a surprise.”  
  
Sarah looked around the diner and leaned forward over the table. “Who’s the mother?” she asked, whispering.  
  
Sam just stared and swallowed hard. He grabbed a couple more fries and shoved them in his mouth, trying to think of an answer. He swallowed the fries down then grabbed onto his soda. “Uh, no-- no one,” he said softly. He finally knew what John had felt like the first night in the hospital, when John had to lie about being Sam’s father. “I mean, nobody I know.”  
  
Sarah nodded understandingly and sat back down in her seat, picking up her fork. “So, how old is he anyway?” she asked, before taking a bite of her salad.  
  
“Two months and twenty-four days,” Sam answered quickly. So quickly that Sarah just stared in surprise. He smiled nervously. “Uh, I mean … something like that. Around there.”  
  
Sarah giggled softly and took another drink. “You and Dean must be really close, living together, taking care of Dylan.”  
  
Sam nodded, a sly smile on his face. “Yeah, you have _no_ idea how close we are,” he muttered, trying to keep his smile from growing.  
  
Sarah grinned. “So um, I really hope I’m not keeping you from something. Like … a girlfriend, maybe?” she asked hopefully.   
  
Sam shook his head. “No, no _girl_ friend, I must say.”  
  
Sarah nodded, smiling again. “I really wish I didn’t have to leave on Monday, we could spend more time together.”  
  
“Yeah, that does suck,” Sam agreed softly, slouching down a bit in his seat. “But I mean, who am I to keep you on the other side of the country? Your father probably misses you.”  
  
Sarah shrugged. “I’m sure he’s fine. I could probably arrange to stay a little while longer, if …” she offered, eyes bright and hopeful.  
  
Sam’s mouth opened slightly and he grabbed a couple fries again. “I, uh-- I’m not too sure that would--”  
  
“Sam, can I ask you a direct question?” Sarah looked him in the eyes, her expression earnest and open, “Could we have had something, if you had stuck around? I mean there was something there, wasn’t there? What you said to me outside the record office and that goodbye...” she smiled.  
  
Sam nodded slowly, a small, though no less warm smile. “Yeah, we did. But, things change, people change. I don’t really know what to say. It’s-- it’s a different kind of … situation.” He took a deep breath and sighed, taking a drink. He cleared his throat and sat up a bit. “It’s not that I don’t like you, Sarah. I do. Or I did. I just-- I wasn’t really expecting to ever see you again.” He looked at Sarah, trying to smile. “I’m kind of … taken, in a way.”  
  
“Oh,” Sarah said flatly, sitting back. “Well, don’t I feel stupid.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “No, no, don’t feel stupid. Please, don’t feel stupid. There’s no way you could’ve known. I would’ve told you, I just-- I didn’t want to hurt you, Sarah. Maybe if I had stayed, maybe then … but now, I don’t think it would work.”  
  
“Oh,” Sarah said again, poking her salad to death with her fork. “So, uh, wh--”  
  
“Dylan’s mine,” Sam blurted out before he could even stop himself.  
  
Sarah’s mouth opened slightly in shock. “Oh. _Oh_. So … you’re still with his mother then.”  
  
“Uh, yeah, I guess I am,” Sam admitted. “Sarah, I would’ve told you, but-- I don’t know. I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m really sorry. I should’ve just told you at the grocery store, but … I’m sorry.”  
  
Sarah nodded and gave a genuine smile. “Well, I’m glad that you’re happy, Sam, really. That’s good.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, it is,” he agreed, “and you’ll be happy one day too. I-- maybe have a kid of your own. They’re the most special thing in the world, Sarah.” He reached across the table and grabbed onto Sarah’s hand, smiling at her. “I really am sorry.”  
  
Sarah sighed. “Yeah, I know. So am I. I shouldn’t’ve let you go the first time around.”  
  
Sam smiled at that and shrugged. “I’m not so sure that would’ve helped.”  
  
Sarah sighed again, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears. “Well, I hope you’re happy, Sam. With Dylan and with … whoever she is.”  
  
Sam smiled gratefully, taking his hand back. “Thank you.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sarah said softly, pulling on her jacket. “I should-- I told Julia I’d be back soon, so I should probably go.” She slid out of the booth and stood up, grabbing her purse. “Oh, I should probably pay--”  
  
“It’s okay,” Sam assured her, sliding out of the booth, “I’ve got it. I’m really sorry it had to end this way, Sarah.”  
  
Sarah half-smiled up at him and pulled him in for a hug, breathing in deeply and sighing as she wrapped her arms around him, then letting go she stepped back and gave a brave smile. “It’s okay, Sam. You have to be true to yourself, and if I’m not the one you want … I should go.”  
  
Sam smiled apologetically back at her, “Bye,” he said softly, waving.  
  
“Bye,” Sarah said, waving back before slipping out the door of the diner and taking one final glance back at Sam, then she was gone.  
  
“Goodbye Sarah.” Sam whispered to himself as he watched her disappear, he sighed and bit his lip, trying to keep his smile in as he leaned against the table. “Dylan’s _my_ son,” he said quietly to himself, his smile growing.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“So what happened?” Dean asked, looking up at Sam.  
  
Sam shrugged and took a drink, looking down at Dean. “Nothing. She asked me if I wanted her to stay, and I told her I was taken. I told her Dylan was my son.”  
  
Dean grinned and shifted on the couch, repositioning his head on Sam’s lap. “And how’d she take it?”  
  
Sam shrugged again. “She said that she was happy I was happy. And I think that she actually meant it.” He sighed and took another drink, glancing up at the television. “How was Dylan?”  
  
“He was fine,” Dean assured him. “Got a little fussy around…” he thought for a moment, “was it the middle of Halloween, or more towards the end?”  
  
Sam’s mouth opened wide, looking down at Dean in disbelief. “You had our baby, our two-month-old _baby_ watching Halloween?”  
  
“Eh,” Dean shrugged. “He’s a Winchester. He’s gotta get used to the scary stuff sometime.”  
  
“Yeah well, not until I say so,” Sam muttered. “ _I_ can barely watch that movie.”  
  
Dean grinned again and reached up, messing up Sam’s hair. “Yeah well, you’re a baby. Always have been, always will be.” He sat up and swung his legs off the couch, grabbing Sam’s juice.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, snatching his juice back. “You know, just because I’m younger than you, doesn’t mean I’m a baby.”  
  
“No,” Dean agreed, “it doesn’t.” He shifted again and threw one leg over Sam’s thighs, straddling him. “But it does mean that you’re _the_ baby. And _the_ baby, is always _a_ baby.” He gave Sam a kiss, before pulling back to stick out his tongue. “It’s basically a rule of brotherhood.”  
  
Sam snorted and rolled his eyes again, pushing Dean off him. “Yeah well, what do the rules of brotherhood say about having sex with each other?”  
  
Dean shrugged and took the juice can from Sam, going into the kitchen. He dropped it in the sink and walked back out, taking his seat beside Sam again. “Do it well, do it often,” he said softly, reaching up to play with the ends of Sam’s hair.  
  
Sam smiled. “I’m not _quite_ sure that’s what it says, but okay.”  
  
Dean sighed and straddled Sam’s lap again, just curling up on his lap, snuggling into him. “Are you okay, Sammy?” He looked up at Sam, sighing. “You don’t seem okay.”  
  
Sam pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head and nodded, closing his eyes, just listening to Dean breathing. “I’m fine.” He took a deep breath and sighed, wrapping his arms around Dean. “I just … every once in awhile, it just hits me.”  
  
“What does?” Dean asked, yawning quietly.  
  
“I’m someone’s father,” Sam answered. “I mean, I know that you’re his daddy and I’m his mommy, but I’m … I’m someone’s _father_. Dylan John Winchester.”  
  
Dean nodded, smiling against Sam’s chest. “I know.”  
  
Sam sighed and looked in the direction of the hallway, straining his neck as if he could actually see down the hall and into the bedroom. “Do you think he’s okay in there?”  
  
“Sammy, he’s sleeping,” Dean reminded him, yawning again, “and he’s too young to be scared of the dark. He’s okay.” He snuggled even closer to Sam, taking a deep breath of Sam’s scent; fabric softener, cigarette smoke from the diner and something else that was distinctly Sam. “Now tell me a story, I’m sleepy.”  
  
Sam reached up and pet Dean’s head jokingly, trying not to laugh. “Once upon a time, there were two brothers, who loved each other very much.”  
  
Dean snorted and lifted his head. “Bo-ring. I’ll come up with something better than that.”  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Oh, alright then. Try and beat that.”  
  
Dean thought for a moment, before his eyes lit up. “Okay, okay, listen to this.”  
  
“Okay,” Sam agreed, nodding once, “lay it on me.”  
  
Dean grinned widely. “There once was a man from Nantucket.”  
  
“Stop right there,” Sam interrupted, shaking his head. “And get off me, you weirdo.”  
 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 11  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** The seven men charged with the attacks against Sam and Dean come back into their lives; ie: this is my Law and Order chapter (aka, sorry if it sucks)  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

**_three months and twenty-six days old_**  
  
Bob looked up from the desk, smiling at Sam. He sat up a bit straighter and gave a small wave and a nod. “Well, well, if it isn’t the mythical Sam Winchester.”  
  
Sam smiled, leaning down to pick Dylan up out of his stroller. “Well, if it isn’t … Bob.”  
  
Bob grinned and chuckled, stretching his arms up above his head, shoulders popping. “And how is baby Dylan?”  
  
“Baby Dylan is good,” Sam answered, cradling Dylan, showing him to Bob. “Where’s Dean?”  
  
Bob glanced to the back of the store. “He’s opening boxes or something. Whatever I sent him back there to do.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and chuckled, shifting Dylan in his arms, Dylan’s head up on his shoulder. “Can I?”  
  
Bob nodded. “Be my guest. And don’t be fooled by the small room and that funky smell. It’s pretty much the greatest collection of albums of all time.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam muttered, making his way to the back of the store, “I’ll keep that in mind.” He sighed and knocked softly on the back door, shifting Dylan in his arms to get it open.   
  
Dean looked up in surprise before a large grin spread across his face. “Hey, Sammy,” he said, dropping the CDs back in the box, stepping towards them. He leant upwards and pressed a kiss to Sam’s cheek before leaning down and pressing a kiss to Dylan’s head, rubbing the soft hair. “What’s going on?”  
  
Sam shrugged and handed Dylan over to Dean, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “I was bored, Dylan was bored, decided to come see Daddy.” He grinned and leaned in, giving Dean a real kiss. “So, what’s Daddy doing?” Sam asked, stepping back.  
  
“Daddy’s unpacking boxes,” Dean answered, the lack of enthusiasm very clear in his voice. “Daddy got taken off the counter because he snapped at a customer.”  
  
Sam snorted, trying to keep his laughter in, which didn’t really work. “What happened, they insult AC/DC?”  
  
Dean glared at Sam. “Blue Oyster Cult, actually,” he muttered under his breath, shifting Dylan so he could continue getting CDs out of the box. “What time is it anyway?”  
  
Sam checked his watch. “Uh, one twenty-nine. What time do you get lunch?”  
  
“Why, what are ya thinking?” Dean asked, glancing up at Sam, who had started wandering around the small room, checking out the boxes of CDs.   
  
Sam shrugged. “Maybe a walk, or something. We could take Dylan around to see the neighbourhood a bit.”  
  
“Yeah, sure, just let me finish with these,” Dean said, glancing down to the box. “I also see you managed to make it in without killing Bob.”  
  
“Doctor Tanner said that I shouldn’t worry about Bob, if I trust you,” Sam said, blowing dust off the top of a box on a shelf, “and I trust you, so I don’t worry about Bob.” He opened the box and looked inside, pulling out a CD. “How much is me going to see him costing us anyway?”  
  
“It’s costing _you_ nothing, so don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Dean said playfully, sticking his tongue out at Sam. “I don’t know, not like, a huge amount. It’s fine, we can handle it.”   
  
“Are you sure?” Sam asked, putting the CD back in the box. “Dean, I mean, I can stop going now. I’m not on the caffeine anymore, so--”  
  
“Do you like going?” Dean interrupted.  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I do. There are things that I can tell him that-- that I can’t tell anyone else, I guess.”  
  
“Then you’re going to keep going,” Dean told him. “It’s good for you.”   
  
“Thank you,” Sam said softly, leaning in to brush his lips against Dean’s cheek. “Thank you.” He sighed and stepped back again, leaning down to give Dylan a kiss. “Do you love Mommy, Dylan?” He gave him another kiss. “Are you almost done yet?” he asked.  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, gimme a sec. I just gotta get these out to Bob and then we can go.”  
  
Sam nodded and took Dylan carefully from Dean, stepping back to give him room to hoist the box.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean shivered slightly, even in the summer heat and smiled over at Sam, who was lagging a bit behind. “What’s the matter, Sammy?”  
  
Sam shrugged and glanced over, before picking up the pace, walking alongside Dean. “Nothing, I just-- I just wanted to go for a walk with you. Is that so bad?”  
  
“No, it’s not so bad,” Dean answered, “but I also don’t think it’s the truth. We never go for walks, Sammy, why start now?” But he dropped his right hand from the stroller’s handle and offered it out to Sam anyway.  
  
Sam smiled and accepted Dean’s hand, linking their fingers. “I don’t know, Dean. I just, I’m just trying to be a good parent. I want Dylan to be like other kids. And other kids go for walks in their strollers with their parents.”  
  
“Sam, Dylan _is_ like other kids,” Dean assured him. “Except that his mother is a boy. But other than that, perfectly normal.” He grinned at Sam, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “So tell me what’s on your mind, Sammy.”  
  
Sam sighed and looked around the neighbourhood, eyes squinting from the sunlight. “I don’t know,” he said finally, glancing down at Dylan. “Dean, I’m fine, for once, okay? I promise. For once, I’m fine. I just wanted to go for a walk. I just wanted to be a normal couple for once.” He took a deep breath and glanced over at Dean, who was watching him expectantly. “You told me to get in the car,” he said softly.  
  
“Huh?” Dean asked, staring at Sam. “When?”  
  
“You told me to get in the car and then you punched the guy,” Sam continued on. “You broke his nose. Everything goes by so fast after that. I got in, and-- and you tried to kick one of them, but he knocked you to the ground. He smashed your head.” He stopped walking and turned, watching Dean. “The guy who took my statement called today.”  
  
Dean sighed, trying to give Sam a sympathetic smile. “What’d he say?”  
  
“It’s finally going to trial,” Sam replied. “The guys. Even with my statement and the-- my identification, they’re still pleading not guilty. He said that we should be ready, for the media or something.”  
  
“But it’s been nearly nine months,” Dean pointed out. “What the hell took them so long?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Problems kept coming up, it kept getting pushed back. But Dean, this thing is going to trial. I thought they’d just…settle it. I never thought the media would be back on this. We’re not going to be a normal couple anymore, Dean. Not that we ever were to begin with, but people are going to know me. And they’ll know you.”  
  
“Sammy, we can do this,” Dean said softly, reaching out to cup Sam’s cheek, making him look at him. “It’s going to be fine. The media’s not going to pay any attention to us. We’re not the ones on trial.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Dean, what if-- Dean, what if they get off? What if those guys get back on the street?”  
  
“It’ll be okay,” Dean interrupted. “Sammy, there’s no way in hell they’re getting off. No jury is that stupid."  
  
“What if they get off?” Sam asked again, ignoring Dean. “And they do it again?” He bit back a broken sob and looked away from Dean, visibly shaking.   
  
Dean stepped away from Dylan’s stroller, getting closer to Sam. “Sammy, they won’t get off. Trust me. Okay? There’s no way in hell. I mean, there’s like, security tape of them at the theatre. And there had to have been blood, you told me I broke the guy’s frigging nose.”  
  
Sam nodded, head bowed. “OJ Simpson got off.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, snorting. “Yeah well, he was a rich, former NFL player. He could afford to get off. I don’t think those guys can. Now come on, let’s just-- let’s get you back home.”  
  
Sam nodded slowly and linked his fingers back with Dean, letting Dean lead him back to the apartment.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Dean getting Dylan ready for bed, changing his clothes. He rubbed at his eyes, before yawning softly.   
  
“Come on, Dylan, let’s go say goodnight to Mommy,” Dean said to Dylan, holding him up to his chest, Dylan curled up to him, hands clenched onto Dean’s t-shirt. He walked over to the bed, sitting down beside Sam. “Say goodnight, Dylan, it’s time for bed. Say night-night.”  
  
“Goodnight, baby,” Sam said quietly, kissing Dylan’s forehead before brushing his soft hair. “Sweet dreams.”  
  
Dean stood up and walked back over to the crib, giving Dylan his own kiss before laying him down in the crib, smiling down at him. “Are you okay, Sam?” Dean asked, pulling off his t-shirt.   
  
Sam nodded, lifting his hips to push down his jeans. “Yeah, just tired.”  
  
Dean nodded, but kept studying Sam as he took off his jeans. He walked over to Sam and gave him a quick kiss, before walking over to his side of the bed, climbing in under the covers. “You sure?”  
  
Sam glanced back at Dean, nodding again. “Yeah.” He took a deep breath and Dean could see his shoulders slump even more, before finally clearing his throat and climbing in the bed alongside Dean. He curled up on his side, facing away from Dean, yawning again.  
  
“Sam, we don’t have to go and watch the trial,” Dean said, rubbing Sam’s back. “We can stay home, stay away from any media. We don’t have to face those guys.”  
  
Sam didn’t say anything at first, just closed his eyes. “What kind of person would that make me, Dean?” he finally asked. “What kind of example would I be setting for Dylan? I don’t want to be that kind of person, Dean. I don’t want to be a coward.”  
  
Dean rolled onto his side, curling up behind Sam, wrapping his arm around Sam’s waist. “Dylan’s a baby, Sam, he’s never going to know.”  
  
“You’ll know,” Sam pointed out. “I’ll know. That’s enough for me.”  
  
“Okay then,” Dean nodded, rolling back onto his back, letting go of Sam. He reached up to play with Sam’s hair, letting his eyes close. “Night, Sammy.”  
  
Sam leaned back into Dean’s touch, relaxing at the feeling of Dean practically petting him. “Night, Dean. Love you.” He sighed and pulled the sheets up further, snuggling further into the bed.  
  
“Sweet dreams,” Dean murmured.  
  
Sam rolled onto his back, smiling at Dean. “Sweet dreams.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam nibbled on his lip, eyes down, watching Dean’s fingers tie his tie. “You actually remember how to do it,” he said quietly, smiling.  
  
Dean shrugged and finished up, tugging on the knot. “Yeah well, you always bothered me so much about it, figured I may as well learn. Dad showed me how before he left.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Of course, all those times I did it for you, you didn’t learn a thing,” he teased, glancing behind Dean to smile at Dylan in his crib. He took a deep breath and sighed, clearing his throat. “It’s going to be okay, isn’t it?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, it is. Not even that many people are testifying, since you turned them down. They have your statement and everything. It’ll be okay, Sammy.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam shifted in his seat, focusing his eyes on the guy who was testifying.  
  
“Yeah, I was there,” Eric replied, “but I mean, I didn’t want to hurt those guys.”  
  
“So why don’t you tell the court what happened?” the lawyer asked, walking back and forth.   
  
“Sure, I was being an ass before the movie,” Eric began, “I know that. Me and Justin just went after them, after the movie, to apologize to them. That’s why we followed them to their car. And they just went off. The one who was in the coma, he punched me. Broke my nose. Of course I fought back.”  
  
“How many of the defendants were actually involved in the fight?” the lawyer asked.  
  
Eric shrugged. “Just me and Justin. I mean, we admitted to being there. Justin actually talked to one of the guys, and my blood was there. Where Sam got the idea that there were seven of us, I’m not sure. It was just me and Justin. It was a fair fight.”  
  
“After Mr. Winchester punched you, did you fear for your life?”  
  
“Yeah, I did,” Eric answered. “I mean, Sam’s a big guy; I knew that I wouldn’t be able to take him, and he looked pretty angry.”  
  
Sam swallowed hard, sinking down further in his seat. “He’s lying,” he muttered. “Why can’t they see that he’s lying?”  
  
“Sam, their story doesn’t make any sense,” Dean said quietly. “Only two of them were there? And it was self-defense? That’s the biggest load of B.S. I’ve ever heard.”  
  
“But Mr. Colt testified that he got into the car, which means that it would’ve been just you and Justin with Dean. That doesn’t sound like a fair fight.”  
  
Dean frowned and leaned over to Sam. “Who the heck is Mr. Colt?”  
  
Sam glanced at Dean. “Me, remember? Samuel Colt on the lease and the police report.”  
  
“He must be mistaken,” Eric explained. “He didn’t get into the car. He fought with Dean. I mean, I didn’t want to do what I did, and I regret it. But if I hadn’t fought back, me and Justin would’ve been the ones in the coma. Or worse.”  
  
Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe this.”  
  
“Listen, Justin and I admitted that we were there,” Eric continued on, “but the others, they had nothing to do with it. Justin and I were the only ones in the fight. Sam just must’ve messed up. Or he lied.”  
  
“Objection!” the prosecutor interjected.   
  
“Objection sustained,” the judge said. “Jury to disregard the witness’s last comment.”  
  
“No further questions your honour,” the lawyer said, walking back.   
  
The prosecutor stood and sighed. “Eric, I’m going to read you a part of Mr. Colt’s statement to the police. He said, ‘I hit them, and tried to pull them off Dean, but they just grabbed onto me and punched me, and hit my nose. They broke my nose. They jumped on Dean’s ankle. I think that was when somebody at the theatre screamed something. They let go of me, and I started crawling to Dean but then somebody jumped on my hand’. Now, you say that only two of you were at the theatre. Mr. Colt made it sound like there were a lot more than two.”  
  
Eric shrugged. “Like I said, he must’ve been mistaken.”  
  
“Mr. Colt also said that you were on the ground, after Mr. Winchester punched you,” the prosecutor continued. “So that would leave only Justin, to do all of that to two full grown men.”  
  
Eric smiled. “I don’t know what he was thinking, okay? But me and Justin were the only ones there. And it was self-defence.”  
  
The prosecutor sighed. “No more questions, your honour.”  
  
“The defence calls Michael Lambert to the stand,” the defence lawyer for the other men said, standing up.  
  
Michael stood up and walked over, winking at Sam and Dean as he passed. He stood in his place and placed his hand on the bible, smiling at his lawyer.  
  
“Do you swear to the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”  
  
“I do,” Michael said, taking his seat.  
  
“Michael, were you at the theatre that night?” his lawyer asked, walking over.  
  
“Sure we were,” Michael answered. “Before the movie though. That’s why we were on the security tapes. Once the movie started, Eric and Justin stayed and the rest of us went home.”  
  
“Whose home?”  
  
“Mine,” Michael replied. “We just hung out in the basement, played video games and pool. Till a couple hours later anyway, when Eric and Justin showed up.”  
  
“What did they say?” Michael’s lawyer asked.  
  
“They said they got into a fight with the two guys from before the movie,” Michael answered. “Those guys. Eric’s nose was broken and it was bleeding everywhere. Justin was just real quiet.”  
  
“Are you saying that you, Jay Martin, Stephen Hebb, Gary Coates and John Richard weren’t there for the fight?” the lawyer asked.  
  
Michael nodded. “I know that Sam or whoever told the cops, that we were all there, but he must’ve been mistaken. He must’ve just recognized us from before the movie.”  
  
“Objection your honour,” the prosecution interrupted. “Witness cannot testify to what the victim was thinking.”  
  
“Sustained,” the judge agreed.  
  
“I don’t know what happened that night,” Michael continued, “just that Eric and Justin were at the theatre and the rest of us weren’t.”  
  
“No further questions,” the lawyer smiled, walking back to his seat.  
  
“That didn’t go well,” Dean murmured, glancing down at Sam.  
  
The prosecutor stood and walked over to Michael. “You say you weren’t in the fight. What about the injuries the rest of you sustained? You yourself had a black eye.”  
  
Michael shrugged. “We were just play-fighting. We got a little wasted.” He smiled sincerely.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
As the jury filed back out, Sam and Dean watched the defendants carefully. “What if they get off?” Sam asked, glancing at Dean.  
  
Dean shook his head. “Not gonna happen. They’re all going to go to prison, Sammy. There’s no way that they’ll get off.”  
  
“But what if they do?” Sam asked again, turning in his seat. “Dean, if they get off, I-- I can’t deal with it. I can’t live here if they’re out on the streets.”  
  
Dean turned to Sam, giving him a quick kiss. “Then fine. If they get off, we move. We leave Anaheim, hell, we leave California, and we never look back, okay? But they’re going to prison, I promise. I swear.” He wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him in. “You just gotta have a little faith, Sammy.”  
  
Sam nodded and dropped his head, picking at his fingers.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam flopped down on the couch, turning on the television, going to a news station.   
  
“All of the defendants were found guilty,” the news reporter said. “Justin Clark was found guilty of assault and battery, while the other six were found guilty of attempted murder.”  
  
“Sam, turn that off,” Dean said, chucking off his jacket.  
  
Sam shook his head. “I want to make sure it’s real. I want to make sure I’m not dreaming.”  
  
Dean took a seat beside Sam on the couch, pulling him practically onto his lap. “You’re not dreaming, Sammy.” He gave Sam a kiss. “They’re going away. They’re never going to hurt anybody again.”  
  
“We should celebrate,” Sam suggested, lifting up his head. “I want to celebrate.”  
  
Dean grinned. “Okay.” He let Sam crawl off him and watched as he stood up. “What do you want to do?”  
  
“I want to go to the movies,” Sam said, turning to face Dean.  
  
Dean’s mouth opened slightly. “But Sam, we haven’t-- not since--”  
  
“They’re not going to be there this time, Dean,” Sam said softly, leaning down to pull Dean into a kiss. “I promise.”  
  
Dean sighed, pulling back to look Sam in the eyes. “Sammy, I mean, I don’t know if I can.”  
  
Sam studied Dean carefully, thumb stroking Dean’s cheekbone softly. “I’ll protect _you_ this time.”  
  
Dean smiled and laughed softly, reaching out to pull Sam back onto his lap. “I couldn’t do that to you, Sammy.”  
  
Sam sighed and pulled Dean into a hug, burying his face in Dean’s neck. “Then we’ll stay in; we’ll order Chinese food, call Dad, and take care of Dylan. How’s that sound?”  
  
Dean had to smile. “We are so boring. When the hell did we turn into adults?”  
  
Sam shrugged, pulling back. “Probably somewhere between, I don’t know, puberty and now.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 12  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter  
**Summary:** Dean has to stay at work all day, Sam finally gets time with Dylan  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

**_four months and eight days old_**  
  
Down the stairs, through the courtyard, down the street, around the block three times. Back up the street and back through the courtyard. By the time Sam was back on the stairs, he was almost completely drenched with sweat but his body was still thrumming with energy. He bounded up the rest of the stairs and down the hall, bursting through the door. He toed off his sneakers and shifted on his feet a couple times before wiping his brow, finally slowing down. Sam looked around, noticing Dean wasn’t yet up and softly made his way down the hall, glancing into the bathroom. He pushed open the bedroom door, wincing when it creaked loudly and waited, seeing if Dean or Dylan would wake up. Sam sighed in relief then padded across the carpeted floor, going over to the dresser. He smiled down at Dylan, reaching into the crib to rub his stomach gently, smiling larger when Dylan stirred just a little, his thumb in his mouth.   
  
“Sammy?” Dean murmured from the bed.  
  
Sam turned around, smiling at Dean’s hair pushed messily up as he looked around the room, blinking wildly. “Hey, Dean.”  
  
“What’s happening?” Dean asked, sitting up a bit.  
  
Sam shook his head, walking over to the bed, sitting down on the edge beside Dean. “Nothing. I was just going to go have a shower.”  
  
Dean studied Sam for a moment, reaching out to him. “You’re all sweaty,” he observed, before yawning loudly.  
  
Sam chuckled softly, nodding. “I went for a run. I didn’t mean to wake you.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “I gotta go to work today anyway.”  
  
Sam smiled and moved to stand up, but Dean grasped lightly onto his wrist, pulling him back down. “You okay?” Sam asked softly.  
  
Dean nodded and pulled Sam in a bit more, kissing him gently. “We have time,” he said quietly, pulling back to look Sam in the eyes.  
  
“Yeah?” Sam asked, but he was already pulling off his t-shirt.  
  
Dean chuckled quietly and nodded. “Yeah.” He let go of Sam’s wrist and laid back, watching Sam finish undressing. He groaned low in his throat, feeling himself start to harden.  
  
Sam pulled back the sheets and crawled onto the bed, laying down between Dean’s legs. He gave Dean another kiss, first just moving their mouths together before finally his tongue darted out, flicking along Dean’s lips.  
  
Dean sighed in content and just settled in, watching the sunrise through their window, letting Sam press soft wet kisses all along his jaw and neck. “It’s pretty out today,” he said, turning back to Sam.  
  
Sam lifted his head from Dean’s chest and glanced over to the window, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, it is.” He looked back to Dean, who was watching him intently. “Love you,” he said, before pressing his lips to Dean’s.  
  
“Love you,” Dean replied, pulling back. He swallowed hard and reached out, pulling his fingers through Sam’s damp hair. “Why’d you run?”  
  
Sam shrugged and shifted on the bed, laying his head on Dean’s chest. “Woke up early. Thought it’d be nice to get out. I’m usually in, with Dylan.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean agreed, clearing his throat. “Is that-- is that bad?”  
  
Sam shook his head, letting his eyes drift closed. “Not bad. Different. He’s my son, I don’t mind taking care of him.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said again. He began running his hands up and down Sam’s back, feeling Sam shiver beneath his fingertips. He pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s head, taking a deep breath. “Love you.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean walked delicately over to the counter, groaning softly at the ache between his legs. He smiled politely at a customer and sat down behind the counter, shifting.  
  
“So,” Bob said, popping up out of nowhere, “you seem a little sore today.”  
  
Dean just studied Bob, a look of disbelief on his face. “Not really. Tense, maybe.”  
  
Bob winked and waggled his eyebrows, sticking his tongue out. “You and Sam have some fun this morning?”  
  
“Bob, dude!” Dean protested, shifting in his seat. “That is so-- I don’t want you thinking about me and Sam having sex. Please.”  
  
Bob grinned. “Dean, I know you two have sex. I mean … you live together. You’re practically married.”  
  
“Yeah, well…” Dean trailed off, not really having a good argument for that. “Still. You don’t need to think about it. I don’t think about you having sex.”  
  
Bob shrugged. “Yeah well, that’s your loss.” He turned to walk away, but turned back before he got too far. “I have to do this thing with Cheryl’s parents, so you’re going to have to close tonight, ‘kay?”  
  
“Uh … close?” Dean repeated. “As in, I won’t get home until ten?”  
  
“Uh, yeah,” Bob nodded. “That’s not a problem, is it?”  
  
Dean sighed and closed his eyes, before finally shaking his head. “No, I guess not.” He smiled and waited until Bob was in the backroom before digging his cell phone out of his pocket.  
  
Sam pressed a kiss to the top of Dylan’s head, opening his mouth wide when Dylan grabbed at his rattle. “Yay, Dylan! Now shake it, shake the rattle.” He reached out and grabbed his cell phone. “Hey, Dean.”  
  
“Hey, Sam,” Dean said, dejected.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, ears perking up immediately when he heard the tone of Dean’s voice. “Is everything okay?”  
  
“I have to close tonight,” Dean answered, leaning back in his chair. “I won’t be home till like, nine-thirty. At the earliest.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam said flatly, looking down at Dylan. “Well that’s okay, Dean, Dylan and I can have fun together. I’m sure … well I mean, it’s not like you haven’t had to work till closing before.”  
  
“Only a couple times since Dylan was born,” Dean pointed out. “I don’t like being away from him for that long. Or you, for that matter.”  
  
Sam smiled to himself, picking the rattle back up after Dylan dropped it. “It’s fine, Dean, we’ll be fine. Just have fun at work and we’ll have fun here.”  
  
“So you’ll be okay with supper and everything?” Dean asked, swivelling around in his chair.  
  
“Yup,” Sam assured him. “Do you want me to make you something, for when you get home?”  
  
“Uh…” Dean sighed, swivelling around again, “sure. Whatever. I’ll be home when I can, ‘kay?”  
  
“Yup,” Sam nodded, lifting Dylan up as he stood up. “Love you.”  
  
Dean smiled to himself. “Yeah, love you. Kisses for Dylan.”  
  
Sam grinned, giving Dylan a kiss. “Kisses for Dylan.” He turned off his phone and set it down on the table, bouncing Dylan up on his hip, giving him an Eskimo kiss, sticking his tongue out at Dylan. “What are we going to do today, baby? We have _all_ day together. What do you want to do with Mommy?”  
  
Dylan reached up and shoved his fingers in his mouth, looking up at Sam. He made a small sound and squirmed a bit in Sam’s arms before settling down.  
  
Sam sighed. “That doesn’t really help me here, Dylan.”  
  
Dylan’s fingers came out of his mouth and reached up to Sam’s face, spit-covered fingers pulling on Sam’s mouth.  
  
Sam grinned and stuck his finger in Dylan’s mouth, letting him suck on that. “Well, outside it is.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam wished he’d had a hat with the bright California sun shining his eyes, but then he remembered he didn’t own any hats. He sighed and squirmed on the grass, opening his mouth wide. “Dylan! Dylan, my baby boy, what are you doing?”  
  
Dylan squirmed on his stomach, reaching out to Sam, grabbing onto the ends Sam’s hair.  
  
Sam clapped and reached out, grasping onto Dylan’s hands. “You’re on your tummy, Dylan, like Mommy. Can you do this like Mommy?” Sam rolled on his stomach onto his back then back onto his stomach. “Can you do that? Can you?” He sat up and lifted Dylan up onto his lap, standing him up against his chest. “Do you miss Daddy, baby? But we can have fun together, I promise.” He sighed and gave Dylan a kiss. “You and Mommy need to spend some time together. I miss you.” He held Dylan close to him, taking a deep breath, inhaling Dylan’s scent. “You and Daddy spend a lot of time together, don’t you?” He let Dylan sit down on his lap, leaning against his chest.  
  
There was the bang of a door behind Sam and he glanced back, seeing a young woman step out onto her porch, sitting down in a lounge chair, reading a magazine. Sam smiled and turned back to Dylan, laying back, laying Dylan on his chest, letting him grab at his shirt. “You’re growing up so fast,” Sam murmured, eyes closed, just feeling Dylan’s weight on his chest, listening to Dylan breathe. “It seems like just a minute ago you just came out of Mommy. Did we tell you that story, Dylan? That you came out of Mommy?” He sighed again. “Soon you’ll crawl then you’ll walk. Next thing you know you’ll be in school. And Mommy will be all alone at home. Then you’ll get married and leave me and Daddy alone for good.” Sam pressed a kiss to Dylan’s head, wondering if Dylan had fallen asleep, as his eyes were closed.  
  
“Promise me you’ll never leave me, Dylan,” Sam pleaded softly. “Can you do that for Mommy? Please?” He waited, as if expecting an answer.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean groaned and pushed his chair back, far enough to set his chin on the counter, watching the few people meander around the store. He sighed but tried to perk up when Bob came out of the backroom, coming up to counter. “You going now, Bob?”  
  
“Yup,” Bob nodded, fixing his shirt. “How do I look?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Fine.”  
  
Bob grinned. “Alright then. So I’ll see you tomorrow then.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah.” He sighed again and sat up straighter, taking the CD from a man who walked up the counter. He just scanned the CD and took the guy’s money, too bored out of his skull to make any small chat. “Five twenty-five is your change.” He handed the money back over and looked at Bob, who was studying him.  
  
“Dean, I don’t ask you to stay till closing all the time you know,” Bob pointed out.  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’m just--”  
  
“Sore?” Bob grinned.   
  
“Tired,” Dean corrected, but had to smile anyway. “I’m just tired. Have fun with Cheryl.”  
  
Bob snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I think I’m going to dump her tonight.”  
  
It was Dean’s turn to snort and roll his eyes. “Yeah, you’ve been saying that for--” he checked his watch, “since I’ve started working for you. And besides, you can’t dump her tonight, you’re going out with her parents. If you’re going to do it, which you aren’t, but if you are, do it tomorrow. When you roll out of her bed.”  
  
“Yeah well, I’ve got to go, she’s making us go to Carpinteria for the day,” Bob said, grabbing his jacket.  
  
Dean looked at Bob in confusion. “What the _hell_ is Carpinteria?”  
  
“It’s where her parents are from,” Bob answered. “It’s where she wants us to move.”  
  
“You’re moving?” Dean asked in surprise, sitting forward in his seat.  
  
Bob snorted again and shook his head. “Not if I have anything to do with it. Catch ya later,” he said, tossing the keys to the front door and the back room over to Dean.  
  
Dean caught the keys and nodded. “Catch ya later.” The second Bob was out of the store, Dean checked his watch. Not even noon yet. Dean groaned and hit his head lightly against the counter. “I wanna go home,” he whined loudly, causing a couple customers to jump. He dug out his cell phone again and dialled Sam’s number.   
  
Sam yawned loudly, and keeping one hand on Dylan’s back, reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone. “Hello?”  
  
“I can _not_ handle twelve hours shifts anymore,” came Dean’s voice.  
  
“Sounds like you’re having a great time at work,” Sam joked. He took his phone away from his ear and checked the clock. “Dean, you’ve been at work for two and a half hours.”  
  
“But just knowing I won’t see Dylan for another nine and a half is driving me crazy,” Dean explained. “I hate working full shifts. Especially after the weekend.”  
  
Sam chuckled softly. “Maybe _you_ should’ve been the housewife.”  
  
“What are you guys up to?” Dean asked, leaning back in his chair.  
  
“We’re laying outside, in the courtyard,” Sam answered. “The sun’s nice.”  
  
“I wouldn’t know,” Dean muttered, looking out the door and windows to see if it was. “And Dylan?”  
  
“He’s right here, Dean,” Sam assured him. “He’s sleeping on me.”  
  
Dean smiled at the mental image that gave him. “Are you-- are you making sure he’s not getting a sunburn?”  
  
“Yes, Dean, I am,” Sam assured him. “He’s got these cute little pants on and this little shirt and socks and this tiny little hat. He’s fine, I promise. We’re going back in soon anyway, he’s gonna be hungry when he wakes up, and I want something to eat too. We can bring you lunch, if you want.”  
  
“That would be nice,” Dean began, looking around the store, “if you want.”  
  
“Yeah, it doesn’t take that long to walk there,” Sam told him. “Hold on a sec.” He sat his phone down on the grass then held onto Dylan, lifting him up as he sat up slowly. Cradling Dylan against him, he picked up his phone again. “So you want us to come?” He awkwardly stood up, making sure he had a better hold on Dylan then on his cell phone.  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Dean said flatly, staring up at the ceiling.  
  
“Well you sound a _bit_ more enthusiastic about it!” Sam exclaimed, reaching the door to the stairwell. “Okay, hold on a sec again.” He held his cell phone to his chest with his chin then opened up the door, walking in. He let the door close behind him and then took his cell phone back. “Okay, well, I’ll … make you a sandwich and me and Dylan should be there in a bit.”  
  
“Yup,” Dean said, finally some emotion coming into his voice. “Love you.”  
  
“Love you.” Sam put his phone back in his pocket and made his way up the stairs, finding it a lot easier to open the door at the top of the stairs then at the bottom. Sam pressed a kiss to Dylan’s cheek, humming to him. “Guess you’ll get to see Daddy today anyway.” He gave him another kiss and smiled when Dylan’s bright green eyes opened, watching him for a second before he burst into tears, screeching and crying. “Shh, Dylan, shh, baby.” Sam opened up the apartment door and walked in, first grabbing his keys and dropping them into his pocket. “Where’d Daddy put your bottle baby?” He looked around the apartment, frowning. “Where’s your rattle baby? Where’s the stuffed giraffe?” Sam groaned and walked over to the couch, lifting up one of the pillows. “Look it, Dylan, there’s Shakes.” He lifted up the rattle and handed it to Dylan. “Come on, let’s find G. Raff and make Daddy’s sandwich.”  
  
Sam walked over to the kitchen table and set Dylan in the carrier there, trying to calm Dylan down. “ _Hush, little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. If that mockingbird don’t sing, Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring._ Dylan, shh, come on, just give me a second.” He gave Dylan a quick kiss and stood up, pushing his hair off his forehead. “Mommy’s just gonna make Daddy something to eat and then I’ll get your bottle, okay?” Sam walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed what he needed to make Dean’s sandwich. “ _If that diamond ring turns brass, Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass. If that looking glass gets broke, Mama's gonna buy you a billy goat._ Do you want a goat, baby? Does baby want a billy goat?”   
  
Dylan’s crying didn’t subside and Sam had to admit, his singing probably wasn’t helping.  
  
Sam groaned and put the cellophane back on the chicken, putting it back in the fridge. “ _If that billy goat won't pull, Mama's gonna buy you a cart and bull. If that cart and bull turn over, Mama's gonna buy you a dog named Rover._ ” Sam sighed and looked for something to put Dean’s sandwich in, but finally, Dylan’s crying got to him. Sam grabbed a bottle out of the fridge warmed it up and put it in the microwave. Taking it out, he walked over to the table and set the bottle down, lifting Dylan up, blowing raspberry on his stomach where his shirt had ridden up. “ _If that dog named Rover won't bark, Mama's gonna buy you a horse and cart_ ,” Sam sang softly, sitting down in one of the chairs. He offered the bottle to Dylan and his ears finally got relief when Dylan stopped crying and began sucking. “ _If that horse and cart fall down, you'll still be the sweetest babe in town_.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“How’s my baby?” Dean asked, lifting Dylan up out of the stroller. “How’s Daddy’s little boy?”  
  
Sam sighed and tossed the sandwich on the counter, shifting on his feet. “He’s fine.” He looked around, nibbling on his bottom lip. “Don’t you have any chairs around here?”  
  
Dean shook his head, looking up at Sam. “Sorry, Sammy. You can have my seat if you want.”  
  
“No,” Sam declined, shaking his head. “I don’t plan on staying that long.” He sighed and walked over to the wall, studying all the movie posters there. “Maybe we need one of these, do something with all the wall space in the apartment.”  
  
Dean grinned. “I was thinking that Star Wars one in the bathroom,” he said, standing up and walking over to Sam, leaning against his shoulder, shifting Dylan in his arms.   
  
Sam laughed and shook his head. “I was thinking something more … classy. Like ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’, or ‘American Beauty’.”  
  
Dean sighed. “‘Batman Begins’. That’s pretty damn classy.”  
  
“Okay, I’ll give you … ‘Pulp Fiction’. Okay?” Sam asked, turning to Dean.  
  
“Okay,” Dean agreed. “I’ll bring it home tonight. Maybe a couple others too.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and walked back over to the counter, taking Dean’s seat. “I swear, I am _not_ sleeping with a poster of Marlon Brando above our bed.” He pushed the sandwich out a bit, trying to make its presence known to Dean.  
  
Dean shrugged. “Whatever, Sammy. We’ll see. And thank you, for making that sandwich. And then practically throwing it at me when you came in.”  
  
Sam smiled. “Yeah, sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m just tired. It’s warm out.”  
  
Dean opened his mouth in mock shock. “Warm? In August? In California? _No_!” He laughed at Sam, who just rolled his eyes. “I can like, take a break or something if you don’t want to walk back.”  
  
Sam shook his head, leaning across the counter to fix Dylan’s shirt. “We’ll be fine.” He glanced at his watch. “Come on, Dylan, I think we best be going, let Daddy get back to work.”   
  
Dean lifted Dylan up in front of him and gave him a kiss, before tickling him lightly. He handed Dylan over the counter to Sam and took his sandwich. “Don’t be scared to call me, ‘kay?”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and set Dylan down in his stroller, strapping him in. “Dean, don’t _you_ be scared to call. You’re the one who can’t be without me for twelve hours.”  
  
Dean stuck his tongue out at Sam and stood up, leaning over the counter to give Dylan another kiss. “You eat yet?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “I’m just gonna stop on the way home,” he shrugged, leaning down to adjust Dylan’s buckle.   
  
“Want some money?” Dean asked, ready to dig out his wallet.  
  
Sam shook his head again, moving behind Dylan’s stroller. “I’ve got my own. Now have fun at work, Dean, Dylan and I will be fine.”  
  
Dean nodded and sat back in his seat, taking a bite of his sandwich. Sam was almost out the door before Dean realized something, sitting up quickly. “Where did _you_ get money?”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam sighed and stopped pushing the stroller, stopping in front of the convenience store. He thought for a moment whether he should take Dylan out and leave the stroller in front of the store or not, before just shrugging and pushing the stroller up to the door, awkwardly opening the door and holding it open with his shoulder long enough to push the stroller in. He smiled politely to the cashier and walked over to the refrigerators in the back, opening it up to grab a bottle of Coke. Sam smiled down at Dylan, before crouching down, handing Dylan his rattle. “There ya go, Dylan,” he said softly, reaching in to rub his hair softly. He pushed the stroller away, looking for something that he wanted to eat. Sam finally decided on a sub and set it down in the stroller before going over to the counter. He put the Coke and the sub on the counter and smiled.  
  
“Three seventy-nine,” the cashier said, putting them both in a bag.  
  
Sam reached into his pocket and grabbed his five dollar bill, handing it over to the woman. He accepted his change and then took the bag, hanging it off the handle of the stroller. He smiled and turned the stroller, groaning softly when Dylan’s rattle flew out onto the floor. He crouched down and grabbed the rattle, putting it in his pocket. “You’ll get it back when we get home, Dylan,” he chastised. Sam began pushing the stroller out of the store, again awkwardly open the door. He began pushing Dylan down the sidewalk, getting an idea when the park at the end of their street came into view. “Wanna play on the swings, Dylan? Want Mommy to take you down the slide? Yes, you do.” He walked Dylan over to the park, stopping the stroller by the bench and lifted Dylan out. “Did Daddy ever take you here, Dylan?” Sam asked, sitting down on the one of swings. “This is a swing, baby.” He swung back and forth gently, holding Dylan close to him.  
  
“I remember you,” Sam heard from behind him.  
  
Sam turned around, looking at the young girl in confusion before he realized who she was. “Allison, is it?”  
  
The girl nodded. “You fell asleep here, on Halloween. I remember. You were rude to me.”  
  
Sam took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “Yeah, yeah, I kind of was. Sorry about that. That was just a bad day.”  
  
Allison nodded again. “Is that your baby?” she asked, sitting down on the swing beside Sam.  
  
“Yeah, he is,” Sam replied, beaming proudly. “His name’s Dylan.”  
  
“He’s cute,” she said quietly, swinging back and forth. “Do you still live with your boyfriend and Dad?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yup. Well, my Dad left, but it’s still his home, you know?”  
  
“Can I hold him?” Allison asked, slowing her swinging.  
  
“I … I don’t know,” Sam said slowly, glancing down at Dylan. “Nobody but us has ever held him before.”  
  
“I have a little sister,” Allison defended. “I know how to hold a baby, I promise.”  
  
Sam sighed and nodded, holding Dylan out for Allison when she jumped off her swing, standing in front of him. “It’s okay, Dylan, it’s okay.”  
  
Dylan cried and reached out to Sam, but Sam just smiled and rubbed him comfortingly, shhing him. “She’s got you, Dylan, it’s okay,” Sam whispered and Dylan calmed down, letting Allison hold him. Sam sat back and smiled, making sure Allison was holding him carefully.  
  
“He’s cute,” she said again, letting Dylan grab onto the end of her finger. “Are you two going to come back to the park again sometime?”  
  
Sam thought about it for a moment, before pushing off, swinging back and forth. “Yeah, I need to get out more.”  
  
“Can I meet your boyfriend sometime?” Allison asked, rocking Dylan back and forth.  
  
Sam grinned. “Sure. Dean _loves_ kids.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“So you went to the park?” Dean asked, opening up his beer.  
  
Sam nodded and looked up, watching Dean walk into the living room. “There’s only so much to do around here.”  
  
Dean sat down on the floor by Sam and patted his lap, motioning for Sam to lay his head down. “So did you fall asleep again?” he asked, before he started to laugh.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and settled his head on Dean’s leg, curling up. “That was a one-time thing. And it was embarrassing enough then, so I’ll thank you not to bring it up again.”  
  
“Aw, Sammy, calm down, it’s fine,” Dean said, taking a drink. “You were pregnant, I forgive you.” He brushed Sam’s hair off his forehead. “So what’d you do?”  
  
Sam shrugged before closing his eyes, snuggling in closer to Dean. “We went on the swings. Slide. Played in the sandbox.”  
  
Dean nearly spit out his beer and he began laughing loudly. “Can you even _fit_ in the sandbox?”  
  
“Shut up,” Sam snapped, opening his eyes to glare at Dean. “Yes, I can, actually. I’m only six feet tall, I’m not some ogre or something.”  
  
“Whatever,” Dean murmured. “So’d you let this Allison girl hold him?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah. She said she had a little sister, knew what she was doing. And I was right there.”  
  
Dean nodded. “That’s nice. You need to get out more, that’s nice that you took him to the park.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam breathed. “Oh, by the way, she wants to meet you sometime. I told her that you love kids.”  
  
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. “Great. I’ve got me a date with a twelve-year-old.”  
  
Sam smiled and pushed himself up, giving Dean a quick kiss. “Do you ever think about what it’s going to be like, raising him?”  
  
Dean studied Sam carefully, before giving him another kiss. “Um, we _are_ raising him, Sammy. In case you haven’t noticed.”  
  
“He’s only four months old,” Sam pointed out. “Right now, it’s just like, feeding him and changing him. What about when he’s older? Talking, walking, going to school. What about when puberty starts?”  
  
Dean groaned and shook his head. “You can handle that conversation, Sammy. I know you’re just itching to give the sex talk.”  
  
“What if we mess up?” Sam asked quietly. “What if he’s not a good person?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “People mess up, Sammy. I think it’s a part of parenting. But Dylan’s not going to be a bad person, I won’t let it happen. Neither will you. Okay?”  
  
Sam nodded and looked down, picking at Dean’s jeans. “I’m scared, Dean. I don’t have any idea what I’m doing here and--”  
  
Dean interrupted him with another kiss, setting his beer down on the coffee table. He moaned into Sam’s mouth and entangled his fingers in Sam’s hair, pulling him in closer, before breaking apart, moving his mouth down Sam’s neck, smiling when Sam groaned, low in his throat. “You have to stop worrying, Sam. He’s going to be fine.”  
  
“What about when he leaves?” Sam asked, before ducking his head to nip at Dean’s neck, soothing the skin with wet kisses. “And he gets a family of his own? What are we going to do?”  
  
Dean pulled Sam up, cupping his cheeks gently. He pulled back and met Sam’s eyes, taking a deep breath. “We deal.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 13  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** Sam and Dean get an invitation to Paula's wedding and Dylan's first milestone comes up  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.   
**Previous Parts** : [ Here](http://laminy.livejournal.com/tag/mpreg+epic)  
  
Thanks to [ ](http://sparkly-faerie.livejournal.com/profile)[**sparkly_faerie**](http://sparkly-faerie.livejournal.com/), my beta  
  
Thanks to [ ](http://teamane.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://teamane.livejournal.com/)**teamane** for making the header I use at the beginning of the chapter.  
  
  
  
**_four months and twenty-one days old_**  
  
“I didn’t even know we _got_ mail,” Dean said, poking at the envelope with his toe, pushing it across the coffee table.  
  
“I don’t think it’s actual mail,” Sam said, studying the envelope when Dean’s foot got out of the way. “It doesn’t have a stamp, or a postmark. Someone just put it in our box.”  
  
“I didn’t even know we had a _box_ ,” Dean remarked, glancing over at Sam, who was just shaking his head, chuckling softly. “What? It’s not like we get mail.”  
  
“ _Yes_ , we _do_ , Dean,” Sam insisted. “You pay the bills, don’t you? Bills, bank statements … it has to go somewhere.”  
  
Dean just stared at Sam, mouth slightly open.  
  
Sam groaned and pushed himself up, going into the kitchen. “Whatever, Dean.”  
  
Dean’s stare broke into a grin and he began laughing to himself, following Sam into the kitchen. “I know we get mail, Sammy, I was just joking. But seriously, aren’t you going to open it?”  
  
“Why should I open it?” Sam asked, grabbing the carton of orange juice, setting it on the counter for Dean to pour. “It has your name on it. ‘Dean Winchester’, right there on the pretty pink envelope.” He laughed to himself and stepped back, giving Dean room to pour the juice.  
  
“It has your name on it too,” Dean pointed out, grabbing a glass. “It says ‘Sam’ on it too.”  
  
“Samuel Colt,” Sam corrected, taking his drink from Dean. “Which means … I’ve only ever used that name twice and I really don’t think the police are sending us anything. It must be from Paula or the receptionist or something.” He walked back into the living room and flopped down on the couch, grabbing the envelope after he set his drink down.   
  
“Well, what is it?” Dean asked, pouring his own drink.  
  
“A wedding invitation,” Sam answered, studying the invitation in his hand.  
  
“Brad and Angelina?” Dean asked, before he started chuckling to himself.  
  
“No,” Sam answered, shaking his head. “Paula. She’s getting married to some guy named Michael. She wants us to go.”  
  
“Are we going?” Dean asked, walking back into the living room, sitting down in the La-Z-Boy. He gestured for Sam to pass him the invitation. “What’s the date today?”  
  
Sam shrugged, passing the invitation over to Dean. “I don’t know, but this isn’t for a couple weeks. I think.”  
  
Dean snorted. “If you don’t know the date today, how do you know that that’s not for a couple weeks?”  
  
Sam snatched the invitation away from Dean just to smack him with it. “I said, I think!” He sat back down in his seat, slouching down on the couch.  
  
Dean sighed and cocked his head to the side, studying Sam. “Sammy, are you okay?”  
  
Sam slouched down even further, nodding. “Yeah, I am,” he said quietly, glancing up at Dean to see his expression. “I’m just …” he groaned and brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping an arm around his legs. “ _I_ was gonna get married,” he muttered into his knee, eyes flicking over to Dean again. “I was going to ask Jessica, before she died.” He groaned again and pushed himself up, hurrying down the hallway.  
  
Dean took a deep breath and sighed, glancing down at Dylan, who was playing on the floor, laying on his blankie. “We just gotta give him sometime, Pickle,” Dean murmured.  
  
“Dean?” Sam called suddenly.  
  
Dean sighed and glanced back at Dylan, before looking down to the floor. “Yup, just a sec, Sam!” He went over to Dylan and gave him a kiss, rubbing his stomach. “Daddy will be right back, I promise. Just give me a minute, Dylan.” Dean made his way down the hall, glancing into the bathroom and then the empty bedroom, before knocking on the door of the master. “If he’s in a wedding dress…” he muttered to himself, before pushing the door open. “What’s going on, Sammy?” he asked, watching Sam go through the closet.   
  
“I want you to have this,” Sam said, offering out a small box to Dean.  
  
“What is it?” Dean asked, but he took it anyway. He sat down on the bed and opened it up, studying the contents. “What’s this?”  
  
Sam shrugged and sat down beside Dean, hands on his knees, as if bracing himself. “I shouldn’t’ve kept it all.”  
  
“A couple pictures of Jessica?” Dean asked, turning to Sam. “Sam, I don’t care. That’s fine.”  
  
“But I’m not with her anymore, I’m with _you_ ,” Sam pointed out. “It’s like cheating or something.”  
  
Dean closed up the box and set it down on the bed. “Sammy, I know you loved her. I know that you probably still do.”  
  
Sam swallowed hard, slowly looking at Dean.  
  
“But I’m okay with that,” Dean assured Sam. “I really am. I know you were going to propose, I know that you were going to marry her. I know that.” He wrapped his arm around Sam, pulling him in. “I know I’m playing second fiddle to a dead girl.”  
  
Sam opened his mouth to protest but Dean just shook his head.  
  
“I know that,” Dean said softly, “and I knew it when we started this. I love that you had someone who made you so happy, Sam. I wish I could’ve known her better, so I could see how happy she really made you. But Sam … these are just pictures. They’re just memories. Unless I see you going around with ancient Greek textbooks in a graveyard, I’m fine.”  
  
Sam had to smile at that, before shaking his head. “No, no necromancy.”  
  
“Good,” Dean said, nodding sharply. “Now keep your pictures and I’ll … RSVP Paula. Wedding, yay!” His voice was dripping with sarcasm and he gave a small clap. “Dylan needs a bottle,” he said, standing up.  
  
Sam nodded. “I’m just gonna … put this away, I guess.”  
  
Dean turned and pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead, before ruffling his hair. “Good. I love you, Sammy,” he said softly, giving him another kiss.  
  
“I love you too,” Sam said, looking down at the box in his hand. “I’m sorry for this.”  
  
Dean knelt down in front of Sam, brushing Sam’s hair off his forehead. “It’s okay, Sammy. It’s okay. I understand.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “It’s not okay what I did. I can’t just-- I’m with you now. I can’t think about her and what could’ve been. And you’re not second fiddle to her. I love you now. I swear.”  
  
Dean sighed, just as Dylan began to cry from the living room. “I know that, Sammy, but I really gotta get Dylan his bottle.”  
  
Sam nodded again and sighed, looking down at the floor, head hanging in shame.  
  
Dean glanced back at Sam and shook his head, hurrying down the hall. He rushed over to Dylan, scooping him up, setting him on his hip. “Hi, Dylan. Hi, no, shh. Daddy’s getting your bottle, I promise. Oh, Dylan, get your thumb out of your mouth baby. Shh. Hey, what do you want to do today, Dylan?” He grabbed a bottle out of the refrigerator and put it into the microwave, bouncing Dylan up and down.   
  
Dylan fussed and squirmed in Dean’s arms, still crying, face red.  
  
Dean groaned and took the bottle out of the microwave, quickly testing the temperature. “Hungry, Dylan?” Dean offered the bottle up to Dylan but Dylan just shook his head, moving his mouth away from the rubber nipple.   
  
Dylan continued to screech and squirm, grabbing at Dean’s shirt, getting louder with each second.  
  
“Dylan, Dylan, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Dean asked, setting the bottle down. “Shh, Dylan, it’s okay, Daddy’s here, what’s wrong? Tell Daddy what’s wrong. Shh.” Dean studied Dylan for a moment, noticing drool on Dylan’s mouth and chin. “Oh, come on, Dylan,” he muttered, walking into the bathroom. He grabbed a facecloth and wiped Dylan’s mouth off, trying to shh him.  
  
“What’s going on?” Sam asked, coming into the bathroom.   
  
“He won’t stop,” Dean told him, turning around to face him.   
  
“Well, give him here,” Sam said, taking Dylan from Dean. “Hi Dylan, hi. What’s wrong? Shh, stop crying. Shh. He didn’t want his bottle?”  
  
Dean shook his head, leaning against the sink. “He wouldn’t take it. I don’t know what’s going on.”  
  
Sam sighed and leaned against the wall, offering the end of his finger to Dylan, tongue coming out to wet his dried lips when Dylan took his finger in. “He’s fine, isn’t he? Aren’t you, Dylan, aren’t you? Yes, you are, yes you are. Shh, stop crying.”  
  
“What do you think’s wrong?” Dean asked, pushing himself off the counter, brushing Dylan’s hair with his fingertips.  
  
“Well I think,” Sam began, shifting Dylan in his arms, “that our little baby is teething. Are you teething, Dylan? Are you teething? Why don’t you open up your mouth and let Mommy take a look.” Sam slipped his finger out of Dylan’s mouth and glanced inside, seeing the swollen gums.   
  
“He-- he’s teething?” Dean asked, glancing up at Sam.  
  
Sam nodded, letting Dylan suck on his finger again. “Yeah, he is.”  
  
“Wow,” Dean said, astounded. “Wow. That’s … wow. But he’s so young.”  
  
“He’s just teething, Dean,” Sam pointed out. “One tooth. He’s not too young at all. Are ya, Dylan. No, you’re not. My baby’s a big boy, now, aren’t ya? Yes, you are. Give Mommy a kiss, Dylan.” Sam kissed Dylan then turned Dylan a bit, giving Dean room to give Dylan a kiss of his own. “Yes, he’s just teething. We’ll have to get you something, Dylan, when we go grocery shopping. Yes.” Sam gave Dylan another kiss and sighed, looking up at Dean when he realized he hadn’t spoke in awhile. “Dean?”  
  
“He’s too young,” Dean said, voice breaking as tears filled his eyes. He shook his head and sniffled, wiping furiously at his eyes. “I don’t want him to grow up.”  
  
“C’me here,” Sam said softly, stepping towards Dean. He pressed his lips to Dean’s, before pulling away and pressing his lips to Dean’s forehead. “It’s okay, Dean. He’s still our baby.”  
  
Dean nodded and tucked his head under Sam’s chin, trying to hide his tears.  
  
“He’s _always_ gonna be our baby,” Sam assured him, wrapping an arm around Dean’s shoulder. “No matter how old he gets.”  
  
Dean nodded again. “He’s our baby,” he said softly, burying his face in Sam’s shirt. “I don’t want him to grow up.”  
  
Sam shifted Dylan on his hip and tightened his hold on Dean, trying to calm them both down.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam had his head in his hands, trying to make himself seem as small as possible. He was slouched down in the pew and kept glancing up to the front to see how mad Paula was getting. “Dean,” he hissed, lifting his head, “just take him out.”  
  
“That’d be rude,” Dean snapped, but even he was slouching down in embarrassment.  
  
“And this _isn’t_?” Sam exclaimed. “Just give him to me, I’ll take him out.” He sat up and took Dylan from Dean, glancing one more time up at Paula and Michael before standing up, walking slowly down the aisle but hurried once he was out of sight. Sam pushed the door open, sunshine beating down, heating him instantly in his suit. Sam looked around, bouncing Dylan up and down. “Dylan, shh, you need to shh.” He sat down on the step, rubbing Dylan’s back as he dug through his pockets, trying to find Dylan’s teething ring and something to wipe the drool off Dylan’s mouth. Sam first grabbed the facecloth he had shoved in his pocket on the way out and pulled it out, trying to get Dylan to stay still long enough for Sam to wipe his face. “Dylan, Dylan, stop it, stay still. Now shh, let Mommy do this.”   
  
Dylan still squirmed on Sam’s lap and kept on crying, grabbing at Sam’s hair.  
  
“Dylan, _stop_ ,” Sam snapped, reaching up to get Dylan’s tiny fingers out of his hair. “Now shh.” He wiped Dylan’s mouth off, making sure to get all the drool. “Want your teething ring, baby? You have to stop crying to get your ring, okay? Okay? Okay, here.” Sam grabbed Dylan’s teething ring and offered it to Dylan, who took it in immediately and stopped crying, snuggling into Sam’s chest. “Oh, thank god,” Sam muttered, jumping when he felt a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Hey,” Dean said, sitting down on the step beside Sam. “What’s going on?”  
  
Sam sighed and leaned over, setting his head on Dean’s shoulder, closing his eyes. “Finally got him to stop,” he murmured. “I’m tired,” he said, snuggling in closer to Dean.  
  
Dean finished up his yawn and nodded, wrapping an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “How much longer does this teething thing last for?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Another…” he did the math quickly, “thirty-one months or so.”  
  
Dean groaned. “Are you serious?”  
  
Sam nodded slowly, glancing back to the church doors. “Nice wedding. Too bad we ruined it.”  
  
“We didn’t ruin it,” Dean said, sitting up straight, his back cracking. “We made it _memorable_. Besides, it’s not our fault, it’s Dylan’s.”  
  
Sam snorted and shook his head. “I don’t think that Paula will see it that way.” He sighed and shifted Dylan in his lap, making sure he kept the teething ring in his mouth. “Parenthood is _hard_ ,” he groaned, dropping his head forward.  
  
“Yeah, we should tell Paula,” Dean said, ready to push himself up off the stairs but stilled at Sam’s glare. He sighed and settled back down, looking around. “Yeah, it is,” he agreed again, glancing at Sam, “but I think we’re doing okay.”  
  
Sam nodded sharply, groaning when Dylan spit the teething ring out, sending drool everywhere. “Christ,” he muttered, grabbing the facecloth again. He gently wiped off Dylan’s mouth and cleaned off the teething ring, handing it back to Dylan. “It’s all worth it though, isn’t it, Dylan?” He pressed a kiss to the tip of Dylan’s nose and fixed his shirt. “You’re worth it.”  
  
Dean grinned. “Maybe we’ll tell Paula _that_ ,” he suggested.  
  
“Maybe,” Sam agreed softly, nodding, giving Dylan another kiss, ruffling his blonde hair.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean grinned and tipped his champagne glass to Sam, who had an even larger grin on his face, spinning around on the dance floor, Dylan in his arms, sleeping. “Don’t tire yourself out, Sam!” Dean called.  
  
Sam hummed along to the song, which he had to admit was a strange song to play at a wedding.   
  
“I'm feelin’ sexy, I wanna hear you say my name boy. If you can reach me, you can feel my burning flame,” Beyoncé sang through the speakers.   
  
Dean sighed and shook his head, taking another sip of the champagne, wishing Paula was allowing beer to be sold there.  
  
“He is so _cute_ ,” one of the bridesmaids practically squealed to Paula. “Is that his baby?”  
  
Paula downed her champagne and glanced over to Sam, nodding.  
  
“Tonight I’ll be your naughty girl, I’m calling’ all my girls, were gonna turn this party out,” Beyoncé continued on, continuing to annoy Dean to know end, especially since he was trying to listen to Paula’s conversation with her bridesmaids.  
  
“Is he single?” another one of them asked, studying Sam carefully.  
  
Paula took another sip of champagne and shook her head. “Definitely not. See that guy over there?”  
  
Dean grinned to himself, not needing to check to know that Paula’s entire bridal party was now studying him.  
  
“They’re together,” Paula continued on. “That’s _their_ baby. They adopted him like, the day he was born. Isn’t he just darling?”  
  
“They make such a cute family,” the first bridesmaid stated.   
  
Dean grinned again, nodding to himself. “Damn straight,” he murmured, finishing his champagne. The song changed and Dean pushed himself up, exaggerating his limp to get some point with the ladies as he walked by, going over to Sam. “The bridal party thinks we’re cute together,” Dean said, taking Dylan carefully from Sam.  
  
Sam glanced over Dean’s shoulder to the table filled with women, all trying to discreetly watch them. “Yeah?”  
  
Dean nodded, swaying back and forth. “We make such a cute family,” he continued on, nodding.  
  
Sam nodded slowly, watching Dean with Dylan. “Well, no arguing there.” He leaned down, giving Dean a sweet kiss, pulling back to glance at the bridal party. “God, they are eating this up.”  
  
“Well, let’s give them a show,” Dean grinned, leaning up to give Sam another kiss, Dylan still sleeping between them.  
  
Sam practically giggled and stepped back, playfully pushing Dean away. “Dean, we can’t. This isn’t our wedding, it’s Paula’s.”  
  
Dean shrugged, shifting Dylan in his arms. “Pretend it’s ours,” he said softly, looking Sam in the eyes. “Just close your eyes.”  
  
Sam studied Dean for a moment and deciding Dean was serious, he obeyed, eyes drifting shut. “Now what?”  
  
Dean sighed and as best as he could with a baby in his arms, got in a position good enough for dancing, nestled against Sam’s chest, telling Sam quietly where to put his hands. Dean closed his own eyes and began swaying, getting Sam to do the same. “This is our wedding song, Sammy.”  
  
Sam grinned and chuckled softly. “Dean, this has got to be the cheesiest song ev--”  
  
“Shh,” Dean cut him off. “It’s our wedding song, Sammy. We picked it together. We love this song.”  
  
“Okay, fine,” Sam agreed, cupping the back of Dean’s neck, almost feeling ridiculous, knowing the bridal party was probably staring at them right now. “It’s still cheesy though.”  
  
“Just be glad I’m not singing along,” Dean muttered, pressing a kiss to Sam’s neck.  
  
“ _Cause it’s you and me and all other people with nothing to do, nothing to lose. And it's you and me and all other people. And I don’t know why_ \--”  
  
“I can’t keep my eyes off of you,” Dean finished, singing in Sam’s ear.


	14. Chapter 14

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 14  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter  
**Summary:** Sam has a vision of flames and ceiling, days before Dylan turns six months old. So who else to call, but John.  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

**_five months and twenty-six days old_**  
  
Sam gasped and shot up in bed, pain flaring behind his eyes. He swallowed hard and glanced over to the crib, squeezing his eyes shut as tears began to fill them.  
  
Dean groaned and shifted under the covers before his eyes flickered open, focusing on Sam, sitting up and panting. “Sammy?” he asked, voice scratchy. He sat up beside him. “Sam? Are you okay?”  
  
“I can’t let it happen again,” Sam said quietly, not answering Dean’s question. He glanced over at Dean, tears running down his cheeks. “I have to protect him.”  
  
“Who?” Dean asked. “Dylan?” Then it all hit Dean like a ton of bricks. “Shit, Sammy.”  
  
Sam nodded and wiped at his eyes, shaking. “I had a vision. It’s going to happen.”  
  
“Dylan’s going to…” Dean’s voice trailed off as his eyes moved from Sam over to the crib. “No, I won’t let it--”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Not Dylan,” he said, turning in the bed to face Dean. “Me. I’m the one on the ceiling.” He shook his head again and took a deep breath, still shaking. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking.  
  
Dean was still stunned from the realization of Sam’s vision, but that got him back. “Why? What’d you do?”  
  
Sam shook his head and turned completely to face Dean, taking a deep shuddering breath, before practically collapsing on the bed. He crawled onto Dean’s lap, curling into his chest. “ _I_ ’m the reason this is all happening.”  
  
“No, you’re not, Sammy,” Dean insisted, running his fingers through Sam’s hair. “No, you’re not.”  
  
“Really?” Sam asked, lifting his head. “Because I don’t think Mom died when _you_ were six months old! I don’t think _you’re_ the psychic freak, Dean! No, Dean, it’s me! Nobody started dying until I came along!”  
  
Dean’s eyes dropped and he took a deep breath of his own, picking at the blankets. Finally, he spoke. “Call Dad. We still have a week to-- to stop this. I am _not_ going to let you die, Sammy. Ever. Especially not now.”  
  
Sam nodded and crawled off the bed, going over to the dresser to grab his cell phone.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean changed the channel, turning the volume down on the television when Sam stirred in his sleep, his head cushioned by Dean’s thigh. Dylan then stirred in his arms, drool running down his chin to stain Dean’s shirt, but Dean just couldn’t be bothered to move. Neither Sam nor Dean had slept much in the past two days, while waiting for John to come in from New Hampshire. Dean just stared blankly at the television, not even comprehending what he was seeing, just happy that Sam was getting a bit of sleep. He could feel his own eyelids drifting shut before someone at the door kept him awake.  
  
John burst in through the door, not even taking off his shoes before throwing his duffel bag to the floor and rushing into the living room. “Dean,” John said breathlessly, stopping in front of the couch.  
  
“Dad,” Dean said gratefully, brushing Sam’s hair off his forehead. “Sammy, wake up, Dad’s here.”  
  
Sam groaned and sat up, eyes blinking wildly before he saw John in front of them. “Dad?” he asked tiredly. “You’re here,” he said, a hint of happiness coming into his voice for the first time in days.  
  
John smiled at Sam before turning his gaze to Dylan, who had woken up when John came into the apartment and was now crying, grabbing at Dean’s t-shirt, screeching. “Dylan,” he said softly, in awe. “He’s grown so much.”  
  
Dean stood up carefully, shhing Dylan before handing him over to John. “Do you know who this is, Dylan? This is your grampie, remember him? Yes, shh. He’s your grampie.”  
  
John shifted Dylan in his arms, studying his grandson. “He’s gorgeous.”  
  
Dean smiled softly and nodded, crossing his arms. “We’ve missed you, Dad.”  
  
John nodded, pressing a kiss to Dylan’s head, getting him to calm down. “I’m just sorry that this is the reason I came back.”  
  
Sam nodded understandingly, yawning softly. “We, uh, we kept your bedroom yours. Dylan’s still in our room. We can put your stuff in there now.”  
  
John glanced back to his duffel and studied his sons carefully, both with dark circles under their eyes, both looking so tired, physically and emotionally. “I’m sorry I left you boys,” he said finally, swallowing hard. He sighed, looking around the apartment. “Why don’t I take you boys out for supper? You look like you need it.”  
  
“But Dad,” Sam began to protest, but John just cut him off.  
  
“There’s time, Sammy,” John assured him, giving Dylan a kiss. “Trust me.”  
  
Sam nodded slowly, looking over to Dean, who was watching him, his bottom lip in his mouth.  
  
“It couldn’t hurt,” Dean shrugged.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean grabbed the fry, playfully offering it to Dylan before taking it away, shoving it in his own mouth. “No fries for you,” Dean said, pressing a kiss to the top of Dylan’s head. “You’ll drink the formula.” He checked to see how much was left in the bottle and looked over at John and Sam; John who was drinking his coffee and Sam who had one hand shoved in his hoodie, the other picking at his food. He sighed and ate another fry, glaring at Sam and John. “Listen, I think there’s a pretty pressing situation here that no one seems to be talking about.”  
  
Sam looked slowly over to Dean, before his eyes dropped once more. “I don’t know what to say,” he said quietly.  
  
John cleared his throat, deciding he’d be the one to speak. “When you called, I thought you meant that … well, I thought your vision was of Dylan.”  
  
“Well, it doesn’t matter who the vision was of,” Dean said angrily, “because I’m not going to let it happen, to either of them, okay?”  
  
Sam sighed and slouched down in his seat, staring at his sandwich in front of him. “Maybe … I don’t know, maybe we can make a deal, or something. Something else the demon wants.”  
  
“The demon’s always wanted you,” John pointed out, picking up his coffee mug again.  
  
“So why is he going to kill me?” Sam asked, turning to John.  
  
“Sam, didn’t you hear what I just said?” Dean asked, leaning across the table. “It’s not going to happen. Okay? October thirteenth, we’ll all be alive. I don’t care what I have to do to make it happen.”  
  
Sam swallowed hard, glancing over at John, who was watching Dean. “It’s me he wants,” Sam said softly. “It always has been. If he gets me--”  
  
“No!” Dean snapped. “Sam, don’t do this. Please.” He reached across the table to stroke Sam’s hand, staring him in the eye. “Sam, don’t talk like that.”  
  
Sam cleared his throat and nodded, swallowing hard. “We can’t win,” he said sadly, shaking his head. “We can’t stop him. I saw it happen and I _know_ it’s real this time. I’m going to die.” His eyes filled with tears again and he sniffled, watching Dylan, a proud smile on his face. “We made it without Mom. Maybe you can make it without--”  
  
“Sam!” Dean yelled, garnering the attention of the other patrons of the diner. “Why are you doing this? Why are you giving up? We can _fight_ , we can _win_ , I know it. Why are you giving up?”  
  
“I’m _not_ giving up!” Sam yelled right back, smacking his fist against the table. “I’m being realistic.” He wiped at his eyes and turned to his father, leaning on his shoulder. Sam closed his eyes and just let his tears flow, silently sobbing. “I’m sorry.”  
  
John wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him in, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “After everything we’ve done … everything we’ve seen, I don’t think realistic is in our vocabulary, Sammy. Open your eyes, son, look at your baby.”  
  
Sam opened his eyes, smiling at Dylan who was smiling back, trying to grab at Dean’s food.   
  
“Dylan needs you to be strong,” John continued on. “He needs you to be strong for him; he needs you to fight.”  
  
Sam nodded, but still didn’t lift his head, didn’t move away from him. “I’m tired, Dad,” he said quietly. “I’m so tired of fighting this thing.”  
  
Dean watched Sam and sighed, taking Dylan’s bottle away from him, setting it on the table.   
  
“I can’t do it anymore,” Sam said weakly, and both John and Dean could tell that Sam was this close to falling asleep. “I want to fight for him, but I don’t know if I _can_.”  
  
“You need some sleep, Sammy,” John said, reaching out for his mug of coffee. He took a sip and cleared his throat, setting it back down on the table. “We can talk about this some more once you-- both of you-- get some sleep.” John looked at Dean, waiting, as if expecting a challenge.  
  
Dean nodded slowly and cleared his throat, shifting Dylan in his arms, sliding out of the booth. “I’ll go pay; you guys get out in the truck.”  
  
Sam straightened up and slid slowly out of the booth, trudging slowly through the diner to the doors, John close behind him. He opened the door and looked around, a slight drizzle had started since they went into the diner. Sam took a couple steps before visions of himself on the ceiling, flames filling the room, filled his head. He gasped and reached out for something that wasn’t there and he fell, knees cracking against the wet concrete.  
  
“Sammy,” John said, dropping behind Sam, his hands on his shoulders.   
  
Sam gasped again and his head fell forward, focusing on the concrete. “It’s still going to happen,” he said, glancing back at John.  
  
Dean came out of the diner, stopping in his tracks when he saw Sam and his father on the ground. “Sam?”  
  
Sam and John both glanced back at Dean.  
  
“Shit,” Dean muttered, shaking his head.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
John pulled his finger out of Dylan’s tiny grip and glanced behind him, to Sam and Dean, sleeping in their bed. “Sammy’s not giving up on you, Dylan,” John said quietly, crouching slightly. “He’s just tired. We all are. And while I admit … if this whole thing ended tomorrow I’d be happy, but not if it means losing one of my boys.” He leaned in and gave Dylan a kiss, stroking his head. “Just give him some time, Dylan, and he’ll be fighting for you. I promise. Now get some sleep, all three of ya need it. I love you, Dylan.” He sighed and stepped back, walking over to the bed. “Don’t let him give up, Dean,” he said quietly, fixing the bed sheets. “Sammy, don’t give up. Your family’s the only thing worth fighting for.”   
  
Sam stirred under the sheets, rolling over to half lie on Dean.  
  
John sighed and walked out of the master bedroom, going into his own. He had to smile; the room looked completely untouched since the day he left. He sat down on the bed, looking around the room. John sighed again and lay back, staring up at the ceiling.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam smiled, reaching out to Dylan, shifting on the floor. “Hey, baby. Hey. Come here, come here.” He lifted Dylan up, just above his chest, not sure how strong Dylan’s neck was. “I love you, Dylan, do you love me too?” He lifted Dylan up just a bit further, smiling. “Whee! Whee, Dylan!” He laid Dylan back on the floor, rolling on to his stomach. “Do you love me, Dylan? I love you. Do you know that?” He tickled Dylan’s stomach, blowing a raspberry.  
  
John chuckled softly and walked back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. “He’s gotten a lot better with him since the last time I was around.”  
  
Dean smiled, nodding. “Yeah, that’s for sure. He’s great with him. Sam, are you eating, or not?” he called, stepping back from the stove.  
  
“Whatever!” Sam called back, picking Dylan up.  
  
“Yeah, whatever,” Dean muttered, going back to the stove. “Dad, what are we going to do? This thing is coming _tomorrow_ and we don’t have a plan. Sam’s not talking about it, he doesn’t even care!”  
  
“Of course he cares, Dean,” John assured him, going to the cupboard to get a mug. “But you heard him at the diner, he’s tired. And he doesn’t know what to do. We can’t stop the demon until he gets here.”  
  
“Can’t we leave?” Dean asked, glaring up at the light fixture when the lights began to all flicker. He groaned and went back to the stove. “If we leave now, we can get a head start.”  
  
“He’ll find you, Dean,” John said softly. “I know that sucks, it does, but I’ve been studying this demon, tracking him. He’ll follow you.”  
  
Dean sighed and got his spatula out, flipping the grilled cheese sandwich. “What if … maybe-- Dad, we need to have a plan. What if Sammy leaves and we all stay here? It could throw him off or something.”  
  
“Dean, you need to listen to me,” John commanded, setting his mug down, stepping in front of Dean. “He will _follow_ him. He doesn’t want Sam anymore and he’ll do anything he can to get rid of him.”  
  
Dean sighed and dropped his spatula, turning around. “It just doesn’t seem like Sam cares anymore, Dad. Why doesn’t he care?”  
  
John sighed and pulled Dean in for a hug, a tight hold on his son, tears filling his own eyes. He took a deep breath and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder. “He _does_ care. He is fighting for you, Dean. You heard him. He wants to make a deal--”  
  
“The demon isn’t going to make a _deal_!” Dean snapped, pulling away. “Dad, I love him. I love him more than you love him, more than anyone else ever has. And I can’t just sit back and watch while he kills himself because he doesn’t want to fight!”  
  
Sam sat up, Dean’s yelling getting his attention. He smiled down at Dylan and pushed himself up, going over to the entrance to the kitchen.  
  
“Dean, you have to let him deal with this the way he wants to do deal with this!” John insisted, stepping towards Dean.  
  
“Why aren’t you fighting him?” Dean asked angrily. “You’re his father! Why aren’t you telling him to fight! Why aren’t you telling him not to give up?” Dean’s own tears spilled over and he finally noticed Sam. “How can you do this!” he yelled, pushing by John to grab onto Sam’s shirt, slamming him into the wall. “Why don’t you want to live? Why are you giving up?”  
  
“I’m _not_ giving up!” Sam yelled, trying to push Dean off him but Dean just slammed him back. “I’m scared! I don’t know what to do! The demon wants _me_! I’m the one he wants! I’m the reason Mom had to die, why Jessica had to die! If he gets me, maybe he’ll stop this and Dylan won’t have to grow up like we did!”  
  
Dean pushed Sam against the wall one last time before his head dropped forward and he began to sob into Sam’s shirt, his grip still on Sam’s shirt. “Sammy,” he said weakly, before he let go and dropped down to the floor, head on his knees. “Sammy,” he said again, rocking back and forth. “Please, you have to fight,” he pleaded, lifting his head.  
  
Sam sat down carefully in front of Dean, biting his lip. He sat for a moment, not sure what to say. “I think you should leave, Dean,” he said finally.  
  
“What?” Dean asked in disbelief.  
  
Sam reached out to brush Dean’s tears off his cheeks. “I don’t want Dylan to grow up the way I did, Dean. I don’t want this thing around Dylan, ever. I’m going to die, so that Dylan can live. Please, you have to understand this. You should leave and take Dylan with you. I don’t want you at risk. It’s not you he wants.”  
  
Dean shook his head, glancing up at John, who was bracing himself against the counter, crying quietly to himself. “If we fight then we can all live, and-- and Dylan doesn’t have to grow up without you, and I don’t have to--” he began sobbing again, sniffling. “I love you, Sammy. I’m not going to let you die. I’m not. I don’t care what you want, or what you’re willing to do, it’s not gonna happen.”  
  
Sam sighed and reached up to scratch his neck. “Dean, if you had to, would you die for me?”  
  
Dean nodded furiously. “Of course, I would. But I’m not going to let you die for me and Dylan. It’s not gonna happen. I can’t do this alone, Sam, I can’t. I need you.”  
  
“Tomorrow, this whole thing could be over,” Sam said, ignoring Dean’s comments. “I’ll keep the Colt. I’ll tell him that he has to promise to leave you and Dylan and Dad alone forever, or I’ll shoot him.”  
  
“Then leave it at that!” Dean protested. “Tell him to leave us _all_ alone or you’ll shoot him. He’s not going to leave us alone, Sam, you know that. And I’m not leaving you, Sammy. We’re going to wait here and when that demonic son of a bitch shows up, we fight him, okay? Promise me, Sammy, that you’re not just going to give up.”  
  
Sam nodded. “I’m not giving up, Dean. I just … don’t know what else we can do.”  
  
Dean pulled Sam in, closing his eyes. “You let me and Dad figure that out, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded again, patting Dean’s back. “What do you want me to do?”  
  
Dean pulled back and looked to the living room where Dylan was still playing on the floor. “Just take care of him, okay? Dad and I are gonna call Bobby and anyone else who has any clue how to stop this, okay?”  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Sam agreed, looking over up at his father. He groaned softly and wiped at his eyes, clearing his throat. “I don’t want to die, Dean.”  
  
“Good,” Dean said, nodding once, “because I’m not going to let you. You’re not making any deals, Sam. This ends, tomorrow.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” John protested, but took Dylan from Sam anyway.  
  
“Just drive, Dad,” Sam commanded, grabbing Dylan’s diaper bag. “Drive as fast and far away from here as you can.”  
  
“This is my fight too,” John pointed out, taking the bag. “It was mine before it was yours. I started it.”  
  
“And we’re finishing it,” Dean snapped, stepping off the small ladder, looking up at the ceiling. “Demon gets in there and by the time he realizes Dylan’s not here, he’s trapped.”  
  
“And if it doesn’t work?” John asked, shifting Dylan in his arms.   
  
“You gave us the Colt,” Sam answered. “We shoot him, either way. I’m not letting this thing ruin another life, especially not Dylan’s. I was stupid to think that this demon would want a deal. So are you going to do this, or not?”  
  
John sighed and glanced at Dylan then back at Sam and Dean. “I’ll do it. I’ll go; I’ll take care of Dylan. But I’m not happy about it.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Well, that was to be expected.” He stepped towards John and gave Dylan a kiss, smiling down at him. “You be a good boy, Dylan, okay? You listen to Grampie. And I promise, you’ll be back with us, soon, okay? Okay? I promise. I swear, Dylan.” He gave him another kiss and stepped back.  
  
Sam cleared his throat and reached out, taking Dylan from John, holding him close. “I love you more than anything else, Dylan. And I promise everything’s gonna be okay, I promise. I love you so much. I’m sorry it has to be like this, but it’s all going to be okay.” He gave him a kiss, trying not to cry. “I love you, Dylan,” he said, giving Dylan back to John. “We-- we’ll call, I guess, when it’s over.”  
  
John nodded and shifted Dylan in his arms again, rubbing his grandson’s back. “Okay. Please, be careful boys.”  
  
Sam and Dean both nodded. “We will.”  
  
“Okay,” John said, taking a deep breath. “I’m gonna head out then, get Dylan away from here. I can’t believe I’m not gonna be here for this.” He sighed and looked around, giving a half-smile. “Alright. Let’s go, Dylan, let’s get out of here.” He sighed again and turned, walking out of the bedroom, going down the hall, until finally, Sam and Dean heard the apartment door close.  
  
Sam’s eyes filled with tears and he turned to Dean, seeing a similar look on his face. He glanced up at the ceiling and cleared his throat, nodding. “This better work,” he muttered, still not completely sure of the whole plan. He turned and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Dean agreed, looking at the empty crib, frowning. “I hope to hell it does.” He rubbed his eyes and looked around, sitting down on the bed.   
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam walked out of the shower, glancing up at the pentacle again, sighing. He walked over to the dresser, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, quickly half-drying himself off, pulling his clothes on, leaving the towel on the floor. “Dean?” In the first second that Dean didn’t answer, fear crippled Sam and he squeezed his eyes shut, praying.  
  
“Living room!” Dean called back.  
  
Sam’s eyes flew open and he rushed out of the bedroom, going down the hall to pull Dean into a tight hug. “Don’t _do_ that,” he commanded softly, burying his face in Dean’s neck. “I thought--”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Dean said, knowing exactly what Sam thought. He stepped back from Sam when he realized that now, when both of them were out of the bedroom and far enough away, would be the best time for the demon to be in there. “Sam,” he said quietly, glancing down towards the bedroom.  
  
Sam nodded slowly, getting Dean’s meaning. “Do you have the Colt?”   
  
Dean nodded, moving his hand to the back of his jeans. He took a couple steps towards the hallway, glancing back when he felt Sam’s hand grab onto his.   
  
“I love you,” Sam said quietly, trying to smile. “I always-- no matter what.”  
  
Dean smiled back and nodded. “I love you too.” He cleared his throat and began going down the hall slowly, Sam slipping his hand out of his. Careful to be as quiet as possible, they made their way down the hallway, Dean stopping at the door. He glanced back at Sam, who was watching the door, trying to see inside the room by the crib, but the angle was almost impossible. Dean took another step, inside the room, Sam slipping in beside him.  
  
“Well, well, well,” the demon said suddenly, stepping out of the shadows on the other side of the room, nowhere near the pentacle.   
  
Sam glanced at Dean nervously, swallowing hard.   
  
The demon smiled and chuckled, glancing up to the ceiling. “Oh, you didn’t actually think I’d fall for that, did you?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “What, that? That’s just for decoration.”  
  
The demon chuckled again. “Of course. It adds a certain something.” He turned his stare from Dean to Sam, smiling. “How long have you known I was coming?”  
  
“Just a couple days,” Sam answered, stepping forward.  
  
The demon studied Sam for a second longer, before Sam flew back to the wall, groaning in pain as his head hit the wall with a resounding crack.  
  
Dean glanced back at Sam and grabbed the gun out of his waistband, aiming it at the demon. “I’m not letting you hurt us anymore.”  
  
Sam cried out in pain as he began to slide up the wall, fighting as much as he could to break free of the hold to no avail. “Shoot him, Dean!”  
  
Dean steadied himself and pulled the trigger, the demon disappearing just as the bullet left the gun. “No!” Dean screamed, jumping as Sam fell to the floor beside him, glancing down at Sam. He reached down to help Sam up as flames erupted above the crib, burning the pentacle quickly before spreading to the rest of the ceiling. Dean ducked, cowering before glancing back at Sam, who was struggling to push himself back up.   
  
“Run!” Sam screamed, the demon still obviously holding Sam to the floor.  
  
“I’m not leaving you, Sam,” Dean said, dropping to his knees, trying to pull Sam up. The fire was going down the walls. The heat was surrounding Dean and burning up his oxygen, but he was still trying to get Sam up. “Sammy,” he said sadly, voice breaking. “I can’t leave you.”  
  
The demon reappeared in the bedroom, a smirk on his face. “He’s smart,” the demon said, stepping towards him, the flames curling wildly around him. “Too bad he’s next.”  
  
“No!” Sam cried, shaking his head. “Please. Leave them alone, you don’t want them! I’m the one you want.”  
  
“I always had plans for you, Sam,” the demon said quietly, “and they came true.”  
  
Sam’s eyes filled with confusion and suddenly it was like a weight lifted off his chest and he lay on the floor in shock for a moment, before he struggled to push himself up. Finally Dean yanked on his arm, helping him up.  
  
The demon smiled. “Protect your son, boys. I won’t be the only one coming for him now.” He disappeared into the flames and Dean coughed loudly, turning to leave. “Come on, Sammy.”  
  
“Not yet,” Sam said, quickly dashing over to the dresser. He grabbed something off the dresser just as the flames touched his skin and Sam jumped back, following Dean out of the bedroom.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 15  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** Dean and John learn the extent of Sam's injuries  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

 

**six months and one day old**  
  
“They’re asking too many questions,” Dean murmured, bouncing Dylan up and down on his hip, swaying back and forth.  
  
John glanced over at the police, who were talking to the doctors and nodded. “How it started is probably the main one.”  
  
Dean shook his head, leaning against the wall, holding onto Dylan. “I didn’t know what to do, Dad,” he said quietly, glancing up at his father. “He couldn’t get up.”  
  
John wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him in tightly. “But you got him out, Dean. That’s important. That’s the main thing.”  
  
Dean’s eyes filled with tears and he shook his head, sniffling quietly. “Why us?” he asked, voice breaking. “Why Sam?”  
  
John shook his head, leading Dean over to the chairs, sitting him down. “I’m sorry it took so long to get back.”  
  
Dean shook his head, pressing a kiss to Dylan’s head. “I’m glad you were that far away. If Dylan, or you had been there too…” he trailed off, reaching up to rub his eyes. He took a deep breath and sighed, bringing his legs up onto the chair. “I don’t have your toys, Dylan,” Dean said gently, rubbing Dylan’s back. “You just need to sit still, okay? Please.”  
  
“Doctor’s tell you anything yet?” John asked, looking around for something to wipe the drool off Dylan’s mouth.   
  
“Something for his arm,” Dean answered, shifting Dylan to give room for John to wipe his face off. “Cleaning the skin. I don’t know, I wasn’t listening.”  
  
John nodded slowly, but he had to smile when Dylan smiled up at him. “Is he awake?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if he was, they’ve got him on enough pain medication to numb an elephant, I’m sure.” He sighed. “I just want to see him, proof that he’s actually okay. I just want to … I want him to be okay.”  
  
“Want me to take Dylan for a bit?” John asked, shifting in his seat.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean answered, handing Dylan over to him, giving Dylan a kiss before ruffling his hair. “Take him by the apartment, see what’s left.”  
  
John snorted and stood up, holding Dylan up on his hip. “Let’s go for a little walk, Dylan,” he murmured, fixing Dylan’s blonde hair. “Call my cell, if they tell you something.”  
  
Dean nodded and wrapped his arms around him tightly, squeezing his eyes shut, tears running out. He rested his head on his knees, opening his eyes to watch all the people walk around them, none of them taking any notice of him. Dean finally broke, sobbing quietly to himself, body shaking. He took a deep breath, hiccupping from his cries, tears staining the knees of his pants. He lifted his head and wiped furiously at his eyes, running his fingers through his hair, digging into his scalp.  
  
“Mr. Winchester?” a voice asked from above him.  
  
Dean cleared his throat and took a deep breath, trying to still himself as much as possible. “Ye-- yeah?”  
  
“I need to talk to you about Sam’s treatment,” the doctor said, sitting down in the chair John had been sitting in. “I’m Doctor Brass.”  
  
Dean nodded, biting his bottom lip, practically going through. “Is he going to-- to be okay?”  
  
“He’s out of the first surgery,” Brass answered, sounding hopeful, “which is a very good sign. We removed the dead skin and tissue from the burned area so now he’s resting, before we do another surgery.”  
  
Dean nodded again, not really understanding what he was hearing, just listening. “How bad is it?”  
  
“He seems to have a concussion,” Brass began. “He hit his head?”  
  
Dean nodded. “He-- yeah.”  
  
“Other than his arm, his lungs are burned, from the smoke inhalation,” Brass continued. “Like yours. Which reminds me, you’re supposed to be in your room.”  
  
Dean sighed and shook his head. “I’m fine, my lungs feel fine. What about Sam? Is he going to be okay?”  
  
“Yes,” Brass finally answered, “after everything, he’ll be fine. He’ll be able to leave the hospital after his skin grafts heal, in a couple of weeks. His concussion will be healed soon, of course, I’m sure one of you have had a concussion before.”  
  
Dean nodded. “When can I see him?”  
  
“Sam is at risk for a major infection right now, I don’t suggest anyone going into his room who isn’t a doctor yet,” Brass explained.  
  
“How long then?” Dean demanded.  
  
Brass blew a breath out and shook his head, fixing his glasses. “Well, with the antibiotics and IV he’s on now,” he thought for a moment, “give him a few hours.”  
  
“Is he awake?” Dean asked, finally calming down.  
  
Brass shook his head. “The pain he’d be in, we just gave an anaesthetic. He’ll be awake when you visit him.”  
  
Dean nodded and sighed, glancing at the doctor. “Thank you.”  
  
“If you’ll be here, I’ll come back and get you when you can see him,” Brass said, standing up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients.”  
  
Dean nodded and brought his legs up again, closing his eyes. Now he knew how Sam felt whenever Dean was in the hospital. “Fuck,” Dean muttered, feeling his eyes well up again. He wrapped his arms around his knees, a feeling of guilt and sadness and fear all rolled together growing in the pit of his stomach. “Fuck,” he said again  
  
 

**…….**

  
John walked back over to the chairs, his rough beard scratching against Dylan’s soft, pale skin whenever he gave Dylan a kiss. “Is Daddy sleeping, Dylan?” He sat down carefully beside Dean, fixing Dean’s jacket, taking a deep breath.  
  
Dean stirred on the chairs; head coming to rest on John’s arm, the rest of his body bent awkwardly, nothing in a straight line.  
  
“I think Daddy’s sleeping, Dylan,” John said, holding Dylan out in front of him, Dylan kicking his legs. “Should we wake him up, should we?” He set Dylan down, sitting down on his lap, head resting against his chest. Dylan reached up to Dean, smiling and squirming a bit in John’s hold, hitting Dean.  
  
Dean stirred and slipped, his head skidding down John’s arm, stopping near John’s lap. “Dad?” he murmured sleepily, not even bothering to lift his head.  
  
“Yeah,” John said softly, glancing down at Dean. “Doctor’s talk to you yet?”  
  
Dean nodded weakly, straightening up a little. “We can see him in a couple hours.”  
  
“What else?” John asked, knowing Dean would’ve asked more than when he could see Sam next.  
  
“Concussion,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “When he hit the wall. Burns on his arm, when he grabbed something off the dresser. Lung damage, from the smoke. Same as me.”   
  
John sighed and nodded, feeling tears begin to fill his eyes. He cleared his throat and reached up, wiping his eyes before bringing his arm down, wiping Dylan’s mouth off with his sleeve. He nodded again, taking a deep breath, holding Dylan close to him. “It’s going to be okay, Dean,” John said finally, wrapping his arm around Dean’s shoulder, pulling him in.  
  
Dean began to cry again, nodding his head as he sobbed into his father’s shirt. He turned his head to watch Dylan, who was just sitting there on John’s lap, blissfully unaware of what was going on around him. Dean cleared his throat and wiped furiously at his eyes, sitting up. He lifted Dylan off John’s lap, holding his son close to him. “I love you, Dylan,” he said softly, cradling Dylan to him, rocking him back and forth, and humming to him quietly. “I love you so much.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
“Mr. Winchester?”  
  
Both John and Dean stirred, Dean waking first, recognizing Doctor Brass from earlier. John woke next, glancing at Dean to see if he recognized the man in front of him.  
  
“This is Doctor Brass, Dad,” Dean said quietly. “Sam’s doctor.”  
  
John extended his hand to Brass, shaking it heartily. “How’s my--” he stopped, not sure what his relation to Sam was supposed to be this time around. “How’s Sam?” he asked, straightening up.  
  
Brass nodded slowly, giving a half-smile. “He’ll see you now.”  
  
Dean shifted anxiously, holding Dylan tightly to his chest. “Thank you,” Dean said gratefully, smiling up at the doctor. “I’d shake your hand or something, but Dylan’s a handful.”  
  
Brass nodded understandingly. “I’ll show you to his room.” He shifted while John and Dean stood up, both obviously still tired and just weak as they followed slowly behind Brass to Sam’s room. “Here he is,” Brass said, stepping away from the door to let John and Dean in first.  
  
John drew a sharp breath when he saw Sam and stepped out of the doorway, standing over in the corner, watching Sam.  
  
Dean swallowed hard and stepped in, going right over to the bed. He sat in the chair by the bed and shifted Dylan, reaching out to lightly grasp Sam’s hand, the bandages running all the way down from Sam’s shoulder to his wrist on his left arm.  
  
Sam groaned softly and his hand flinched in Dean’s hold before his eyes fluttered open, blinking a of couple times before focusing on Dean. “Hi,” he said almost silently, moving his hand in Dean’s grip again.  
  
No one said anything, just all watched Sam; John wondering how Sam could be awake and not screaming in pain, Dean studying Sam for visible damage outside of the bandages, Doctor Brass waiting for John or Dean to say anything. Finally, Dean spoke. “Hi,” he said, equally as quiet. “How are you feeling?” he asked, glancing back up to Doctor Brass.  
  
“Okay,” Sam answered, taking a deep, whooping breath before coughing loudly. He groaned again and shifted on the bed before hissing in pain, eyes squeezing shut. He cried out and his hand gripped Dean’s, shaking from the pain.  
  
“Sammy, it’s okay,” Dean said comfortingly, rubbing Sam’s hand, “it’s okay, just breathe.”  
  
Sam nodded and finally calmed down, the pain in his arm and lungs finally going away. “Dean,” he said weakly, eyes filling with tears.  
  
Doctor Brass cleared his throat politely and stepped forward. “Samuel has been informed of his future surgeries and treatments. Someone will be in to check on you soon, Samuel.”  
  
Sam nodded, eyes closing.  
  
Doctor Brass turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.  
  
“How you _really_ feeling?” Dean asked, moving the chair closer to the bed.  
  
“Like I’m in Hell,” Sam said softly, eyes opening. “Like every time I breathe I’m on fire.” He thought for a moment. “Your lungs…”  
  
“I don’t care about my lungs, Sammy,” Dean interrupted. He sighed sadly and stood up slowly, pressing a kiss to Sam’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” he told him, tears slowly running from his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Sammy.” He sat back down and glanced back at John, who was studying Sam, hands shoved in his pockets.  
  
Sam sighed and reached out blindly, patting Dean’s knee comfortingly. “I’m fine,” he assured him. “Dad?” he asked, turning his head to look at John. “Are you okay?”  
  
John nodded, stepping towards the bed. “I shouldn’t’ve left you boys.”  
  
“Is Dylan okay?” Sam asked, reaching out to Dylan. “If Dylan’s okay, then it was worth it.” Dylan grabbed onto Sam’s hand, Sam hissing slightly in pain.   
  
“No, Dylan, no,” Dean chastised, gently unwrapping Dylan’s fingers from Sam’s. “Mommy’s sore right now, no.”  
  
Sam smiled softly and reached out again to Dylan, wanting Dylan to suck on the end of his finger. “There’s another tooth coming in,” he told Dean and John, “and his gums are still swollen.” He pulled his finger out and tried his best to wipe the drool off Dylan’s chin. “Hi, baby.”   
  
Dean and John both smiled, John finally coming closer to sit on the edge of Sam’s bed.  
  
Sam cleared his throat and weakly reached up, his arm in pain with every movement, to feel his face, trying to determine any damage.  
  
“You’re fine,” Dean assured him, reaching for Sam’s hand. “You’re beautiful.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and John chuckled softly, shaking his head.   
  
Dean just smiled, reaching out to brush Sam’s hair off his forehead. “It’s true,” he said simply. “Sammy, I used the last bullet,” he reminded him quietly.  
  
John sighed and dropped his head, nibbling the inside of his lip.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Sam said, reaching out for Dean again. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Dean shook his head, stroking Sam’s hand with his thumb, trying to keep Dylan in his arms. “It’s okay. I promise.”  
  
Sam nodded. “How’d we get out?” he asked casually, even though he had wanted to know ever since he had woken up. “I don’t remember anything. The doctors told me I have a concussion.”  
  
Dean nodded understandingly, bringing Sam’s hand up to press a gentle kiss there. “We just walked out.” He chuckled sadly. “The demon let you go. Said that-- that he wasn’t the only one who wanted Dylan and he let you go.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Sam asked, tightening his grip. “What do you mean he’s not the only one who wants Dylan? I can’t-- we can’t worry about everybody, we’re having enough trouble worrying about one demon.”  
  
“I know,” Dean breathed, shaking his head. “But we’re going to figure it out. We’re going to protect him from everything.”  
  
John cleared his throat when a nurse walked into the room.   
  
“Dean, the doctors are looking for you,” the nurse said. “You’re not supposed to be up. Your lungs are burnt.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and Sam smiled weakly. “I guess I’d better go.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Guess you’d better go,” he echoed.  
  
“We’ll be back, Sam,” John said, standing up. He nodded and gave a small wave, turning to walk out of the room.   
  
“I love you, Sammy,” Dean told him, giving Sam another kiss, this one on the lips. “Okay?”  
  
Sam nodded. “I love you too.”  
  
Dean sighed and followed John out of the room, closing the door behind him. “I hate seeing him in there,” Dean said, leaning against the wall. “I hate leaving him. What are we going to do Dad? Where are we supposed to live? And all the stuff we lost … what the hell are we going to do?”  
  
John pulled Dean in for a hug, patting him on the back. “I made it, Dean, and so will you. Can we have a minute, nurse?” John asked, glancing at the woman, who just nodded and walked off. “It’s going to work out, Dean,” John assured him quietly. “It always does. You’ll get better, Sam’ll get better and Dylan’s fine. And we’ll find someplace to live, I promise.”  
  
“I don’t _want_ Sam to live somewhere else!” Dean cried, moving to push past John but John kept him right where he was. “He loved where we lived, and so did I. Now-- now we have to go back to living in motels? That’s not fair.” Dean sighed and shook his head again, turning around to look in the window of Sam’s room. “You should take Dylan, go get a motel room now.” He looked up as the nurse started walking back towards them. “I’d better go.” He leaned down, giving Dylan a kiss, smiling at him. “Bye bye, Dill Pickle. Be good for Grampie.” He tried to smile up at John, and then walked away, following the nurse.  
  
John sighed and rubbed Dylan’s back, swaying back and forth a bit, trying to keep Dylan calm. “Come on Dyl, let’s go ho--” He cut himself off and shook his head. “Let’s go.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 16  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** Sam has another surgery and Dean decides that Dylan needs to meet someone  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

 

**six months and three days old**  
  
Dean shifted in the hallway, trying to look anywhere except at the doctor who was trying to talk to him. “So the surgery went okay, right?” he asked, cutting the doctor off. “He’s still like, okay, right?”  
  
The doctor nodded, taking a step to the side, trying to get Dean’s eyes on her. “He’s doing better than expected,” she told him, “but he’s still in pain.”  
  
“So give him more painkillers,” Dean told her, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
“We can’t,” the doctor said. “We give him anymore and he’ll become addicted or worse, overdose.”  
  
Dean sighed and dug his foot into the floor, eyes down. “How much longer is he going to have to stay in here?”  
  
The doctor sighed and shook her head. “Until his skin grafts heal. A couple of weeks and he’ll be able to go home. His head is already healed. His lungs, they’re still damaged. Which reminds me, you’re supposed to still be in here also. Your lungs are just as bad as his.”  
  
Dean groaned and rubbed his face, shaking his head. “Yeah, you and every other doctor here has told me that. I can take care of myself, okay? I’m fine. Now, can I see him?  
  
“Yes, you can see him, but don’t be alarmed if--”  
  
Dean groaned and turned away, walking to Sam’s room. Dean knocked lightly on the door, pushing it open with his hip. He was a bit taken aback when he saw the way Sam was laying, on his stomach, but just smiled anyway. “How are you feeling, Sammy?”  
  
Sam just groaned, the doctors having told him earlier that all the talking he was doing was doing nothing for his throat after all the smoke inhalation. He murmured and slightly waved his hand, gesturing for Dean to sit down.  
  
“Arm feeling better?” Dean asked, taking his seat.  
  
Sam closed his eyes, swallowing hard. “Itchy,” he said finally, voice scratchy.  
  
Dean sighed and reached out, gently stroking the back of Sam’s head. He brushed Sam’s hair, fixing it to his liking and withdrew his hand, smiling down at Sam. “Dylan’s with Dad,” he told him, knowing Sam was wondering where his son was.  
  
Sam sighed and nodded, reaching out to Dean, grasping on to a couple of his fingers. “It hurts,” he said, squeezing his fingers.  
  
Dean nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to Sam’s red cheek, shhing him quietly. “Don’t talk, Sammy, doctors said not to.”  
  
“ _Hurts_ ,” Sam said again, ignoring Dean. “My arm.”  
  
“Want me to go get a nurse?” Dean asked, ready to push himself up. Sam shook his head as best he could and Dean settled back down in the chair, rubbing Sam’s fingers gently. “How’d the last surgery go?”  
  
Sam shrugged, yawning softly. “Okay,” he answered.  
  
“How long you have to stay on your stomach for?” Dean asked, shifting on his chair to reach out, pulling on Sam’s blanket. “Can I look at your arm?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “It’s bandaged mostly.”  
  
Dean frowned and lifted up the blanket, studying Sam’s arms. There were less bandages on there than there had been days earlier, but his skin was still covered from his wrist up to his elbow. “What did you grab off the dresser, Sammy?” He sat back down and brushed Sam’s hair out of his eyes, smiling down at him.  
  
“Picture,” Sam breathed, eyes fluttering. “Of us. Gave it to the doctor.”  
  
“Oh,” Dean said simply. “How you feeling?”  
  
“Wanna go home,” Sam answered, eyes filling with tears. “How much longer--” he coughed loudly.  
  
“Sammy, you should stop talking now, okay?” Dean reminded him, playing with Sam’s hair again. He moved his chair closer to the bed, sighing. “It’s going to take a couple weeks for the grafts to get better. But you’re going to be okay, okay? I promise. Dad’s going to stay with us again, help take care of Dylan.”  
  
Sam sighed and closed his eyes, letting his hand drop from Dean’s. “I wanna see Dylan,” he told Dean, coughing slightly as he did.  
  
“Dad has him right now,” Dean said again, “but I’ll-- I’ll bring him sometime, okay?”  
  
Sam smiled and nodded. “Are his teeth okay?”  
  
Dean smiled right back. “You just saw him two days ago, Sammy. He’s fine. Keeping me and Dad up a bit, but I don’t think we’d be getting much sleep anyway.”  
  
“Where are you staying?” Sam asked, frowning slightly. “Is the apartment--”  
  
Dean shook his head. “No, the apartment is … trashed, Sammy. We just got a motel room. But I promise we’re going to find a new place to live, another apartment. Maybe a nice little house, huh? That could be nice, our own house.”  
  
“Yeah?” Sam asked, eyes hopeful.  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah.” He leaned down and gave Sam a quick kiss, ruffling his hair. “It’s something to think about, for when we get you out of here. I doubt a mortgage would be that much more than what we’re paying for rent.” He sighed and settled back into his chair. “But that’s the least of my worries right now. I just want you out of here.”  
  
Sam groaned and tried to push himself up a little, getting a crick in his neck. He moved his head from side to side, sighing in relief before settling back down on the bed, smiling up at Dean. “I’m fine.”  
  
Dean nodded. “I’m sure. So what do you wanna talk about, what do you wanna do?” He shifted on the chair, almost wishing there was something more comfortable before he remembered Sam was probably the most uncomfortable that he’d ever been in his life.  
  
“I wanna go home,” Sam answered, closing his eyes, feeling it was taking too much strength to keep his eyes on Dean all the time.  
  
“I want you home,” Dean said quietly, standing up out of the chair. He took the cushion from the chair and sat it on the floor, sitting down on it, trying to get more at Sam’s height. Dean sighed and brushed Sam’s hair off his face, biting his lip. “I love you, Sammy.”  
  
“Love you too,” Sam murmured. “Sorry I’m such a bad host,” he said softly, shifting on the bed. “I’m just tired.”  
  
“Sammy, I didn’t even expect you to be awake,” Dean smiled. “I don’t care, okay? But we can find something to talk about; I’m sure, even though the doctor told you not to speak. What do you wanna talk about?”  
  
“I just wanna sleep,” Sam mumbled, lifting his head, looking at the other wall, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“I’ll just watch you sleep then,” Dean told him, fixing Sam’s blanket, sighing. He leaned his head against Sam’s bed, closing his own eyes. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”  
  
Sam smiled and shifted on the bed again, snuggling into the sheets.  
  
 

**…….**

  
“How is he?” John asked the second Dean walked into the room.  
  
Dean jumped slightly and yawned, closing the door behind him. “He’s fine; out of surgery, on the drugs. His arm is itchy and he’s tired … anything else?”  
  
John just stared at Dean, eyebrow raised. “Wow. Way to sum it up.” He glanced down at Dylan in his arms and sighed, studying his grandson. “Sam ask about Dylan?”  
  
Dean nodded, chucking off his jacket. “Asked about his teeth, when he could see him. I told him I’d bring him up sometime.” He rubbed at his eyes and groaned, flopping down on the bed. “I fucking hate this,” he muttered, lying back, staring up at the ceiling. “I _hate_ this.” He groaned again and kicked his leg, resisting the urge to scream his head off.  
  
“You uh, you wanna shoot something?” John asked, glancing outside to the Impala and his truck. “It’s not as if we don’t have the resources.”  
  
Dean shook his head, sitting up. “I’ve gotta go for a walk, or a drive or something. I just gotta get out of here.” He grabbed his jacket again and slipped it on, looking around the room.  
  
“You wanna take Dylan?” John asked, stepping towards Dean. “Or is this … a non-PG trip?”  
  
Dean sighed and smiled down at Dylan, asleep in John’s arms. “I’ll take him, give you time to get some sleep.” He lifted Dylan up, trying not to wake him. “Wanna go for a drive with Daddy, Dylan? Yes, you do.”  
  
“His car seat is in the truck,” John told him, grabbing his own jacket to give Dean the keys. He held them out. “I’ll trade ya.”  
  
Dean reached into his pocket, grabbing his car keys. He handed them over to John and took John’s keys, pocketing them. “Diaper bag?”  
  
“Yup,” John said, going over to the bed. He grabbed the blue bag and walked back over, handing it over to Dean. “So how long you gonna be, Dean?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. When I stop feeling like _this_ , I’ll turn around.”  
  
“Great,” John muttered, patting Dean on the shoulder. “Try not to get into trouble.”  
  
Dean nodded, giving John a quick smile. “Go visit Sammy or something; I hate to leave him up there all alone.”  
  
“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?” John asked. “I’m not sure you’re in the condition to drive, Dean. Especially with Dylan.”  
  
Dean sighed and looked up to his father’s eyes. “Truth be told, Dad, I don’t know when I’m coming back, maybe not for a couple days and I want someone to be here for Sammy.”  
  
“A couple days, huh?” John asked in surprise, sitting down at the small table. “Wow. Well, okay then, I guess. I’ll get up to visit Sam, but if you need anything, you call me and I’ll drive to you, okay?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Thanks, Dad. And I promise, me and Dylan will be fine. Won’t we, Dylan, won’t we? Yes, we will. I promise we will. See ya, Dad.”  
  
John nodded. “Yeah, see ya.”  
  
Dean closed the motel room door behind him, shifting Dylan in his arms to unlock the driver’s side door, sighing. “Please stay awake,” he pleaded softly, not really wanting a crying baby for the first bit of the drive. Luckily, Dylan stayed asleep as Dean pushed himself up, climbing into the truck. He turned in his seat and pushed himself up, gently setting Dylan down in his car seat, buckling him in.  
  
Dylan shifted and his head lolled a bit to the side, bringing his thumb up to his mouth, drool running down his chin.   
  
“No, Dylan,” Dean said quietly, wiping Dylan’s mouth off with his sleeve, “and get your thumb out of your mouth.” He hooked his finger on Dylan’s thumb, pulling it out of his mouth. He shifted and sat back in his seat, adjusting the seat, getting himself a bit closer to the pedals. Dean closed the door as gently as he could; glancing at Dylan, smiling when he saw that he was still asleep. He set the diaper bag down and then stuck the keys in the ignition, starting the truck. “Road trip,” he said to Dylan, pulling out of the parking lot.  
  
John watched as his truck pulled out of the parking lot, shaking his head. He sighed and settled back into his chair, reaching for his coffee. “A couple of days,” he said again to himself. He groaned and shook his head again.  
  
 

**…….**

  
“In-a-gadda-da-vida, honey, don’t you know that I love you?” Dean sang along softly, glancing over to Dylan. He reached over and shook Dylan’s foot gently, smiling down at him. “Don’t you know that I’ll always be true?” Dean drove for a few more minutes, until he saw the bright lights of Las Vegas shining through the night and he realized he had left California. He sighed and glanced in the rear view mirror and pulled off the road, turning off the engine. He smacked the steering wheel before gripping it tightly, knuckles white. “What the _fuck_ am I doing?” he groaned, hitting his head against the wheel. “What the _fuck_!”  
  
Dylan stirred in his car seat, mouth twitching, drool running down his chin, but he didn’t wake.   
  
Dean opened the truck door, hopping out. He ignored the shooting pain from his bad ankle and began pacing back and forth, resisting the urge to kick the truck or slam the door. He groaned and leaned against the hood, closing his eyes. “What am I doing?” he asked himself, quietly this time. He turned and lay on his stomach, watching Dylan through the windshield. “I can’t just drive off and leave Dad to take care of Sammy. I _can’t_ , it’s wrong.” Dean groaned and pushed himself up, studying the lights of the city. He looked back the way he came then glanced forward again. Dean climbed back up into the truck, closing the door behind him. He turned the key in the ignition and glanced down at Dylan. “There’s someone I want you to meet,” he said softly, brushing Dylan’s hair back. He glanced in the rear view mirror and pulled off the dirt, back onto the road.  
  
 

**…….**

  
John knocked softly on Sam’s door, pushing it open. He closed the door gently behind him, walking over to Sam’s bed. He sat down in the chair and moved it closer to the bed. “Hey, Sammy,” he said quietly, fixing Sam’s blanket.  
  
Sam stirred on the bed, but didn’t awake, as John had expected. Sam was so doped up on painkillers and sedatives, John didn’t expect Sam to wake up for awhile.  
  
“How you feeling?” John asked, brushing Sam’s hair softly. “I heard you just got out of surgery. Go okay? Yeah, I’m sure it did.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Sam’s neck. “You’re going to be okay, Sammy, I promise. I swear.” He cleared his throat and sat back up, settling into the chair. “Dean left, with Dylan. I don’t know where he went. He left when he came ho-- back to the motel yesterday, after visiting you. I’m sure he’s okay though. And I’m sure he’ll come back, but Sammy, you need to get better. Dean just grabbing Dylan, driving away, it’s not him.” John took a deep breath. “It’s me. And I don’t want Dean to turn into me; I don’t want Dylan to grow up like that.”  
  
Sam groaned softly in his sleep and let out a tiny whine, fingers lightly grasping at his sheets.  
  
“Hey, shh,” John said comfortingly, running his fingers through Sam’s hair, trying to keep him calm and keep him asleep, “it’s okay. I’m here. Shh, it’s okay. Dad’s here.” He glanced up when he heard someone at the door, a doctor. He gave a polite nod and watched the doctor walk over to the bed, checking Sam’s vitals.   
  
“Mr. Winchester, I presume,” the doctor said, checking Sam’s chart.  
  
“One of the many,” John replied, half-smiling as he stood up, offering the doctor his hand. “So uh, how is he?”  
  
“Fine,” the doctor answered curtly.   
  
“Oh,” John said silently, settling back in the chair. “Where’s Doctor Brass? Can I go talk to him?”  
  
The doctor turned and raised an eyebrow, studying John. “If you want,” she shrugged. “He’s around.” She checked Sam’s vitals once more and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.  
  
John just stared in disbelief, eyebrow raised. “What a _bitch_ ,” he muttered, shaking his head. “If you start getting poisoned or something like that, we’ll blame her, okay? Okay. On the way out, I’ll go talk to a real doctor, see how you’re doing. I promise Sam, you’re going to get better.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
Dean sat down on the dew-covered grass, shifting as the seat of his jeans got soaked. He turned and unbuckled Dylan from his carrier, smiling as he lifted him out, setting Dylan on his lap. Dean studied the stone in front of him, feeling his eyes fill with tears. He sniffled and smiled, pressing a kiss to Dylan’s head. “Shoulda grabbed your coat,” Dean murmured, feeling how chilly it was. He wrapped his arms around Dylan, holding him closer, trying to keep him warm. He reached out to the stone, letting his fingers drift over the engraved words. “Hi Mom,” he said finally, voice breaking. “This is _my_ mommy, Dylan,” Dean said, lifting Dylan up, giving Dylan a kiss. He sighed and nuzzled Dylan’s cheek, smiling when Dylan pointed at the stone. “Yeah, right there, Dylan. She’s your mommy’s mommy too. It’s all complicated, I know, but one day…” he trailed off and dropped his head, tears starting to run slowly down his cheeks. “Hi Mom,” he said again, wiping at his eyes. “I know I don’t talk to you anymore and-- and I didn’t even come here when Sam did, but I _need_ you right now, Mom.”  
  
Dylan flopped down on Dean’s lap, grabbing at Dean’s jeans, trying to get out of his lap.  
  
Dean sighed and lifted Dylan back up, keeping an arm around him. “What are you doing, Dylan? What’s going on? What’s going on?” He lifted Dylan up, sticking his tongue out at him. “This is your grammie, I’m talking to her, be nice. Do you wanna say something, baby?” He sat Dylan back down, this time on the grass, letting him grab at the gravestone. “This is Dylan, Mom. This is my son. Sam’s son. He’s only a couple days older than Sam was when you--” he stopped talking, swallowing hard. “We miss you Mom. All of us. Dad the most, of course. I wish you could be here for him, Mom, to see him grow up. He’s gonna be a great guy, I know it. He’s gonna be like Sammy.” Dean smiled to himself, shaking his head. He lifted Dylan up off the grass, wiping off his knees, sitting him on his lap. “Can you make him better Mom? You always seem to … you can do that, right?”  
  
Dean straightened up when he heard a car pull up somewhere behind him. He glanced back and saw an elderly woman and someone younger, probably her daughter, climb out of a sky-blue car. He sighed sadly, shaking his head. That is why he hated graveyards; it was bad enough he was mourning, but everybody else was there was too. It was too depressing. He turned back to his mother’s gravestone, nibbling his lip. “I don’t know why I came here. You’re not even there, are you? No, it’s just a gravestone. I drove a day, to ask for help from a gravestone.” He shook his head. “I should be with Sammy,” he muttered, glancing down at Dylan. He gave Dylan a kiss, ruffling his hair. “He looks like you, Mom. Nice blonde hair, green eyes. I mean, the green eyes could be from me or Sammy, but we sure as hell don’t have hair like he does. You do. Uh, did. If he was a girl, we were going to name him Mary. _Her_ , Mary, I guess.”  
  
Dean took a deep breath and sighed, leaning forward, feeling the cool stone. “I love you, Mom. Uh, Mommy,” he said softly, blushing slightly even though nobody was around. He brought his fingers back and pressed a kiss to the tips, touching them to the ‘loving’ in ‘In Loving Memory’ carved into the gravestone. He lifted Dylan up and grasped onto his tiny wrist, leading his hand to the engraved words. “Say bye, Dylan,” Dean told him gently, “say bye-bye.” Dean lifted Dylan up, standing up. He leant down and pressed a kiss to the top of the stone. “Bye, Mom.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
“Dean, where are you?” John demanded, standing up once he heard his son’s voice come over the line.  
  
“Uh…” Dean searched for a sign, any sign that would give him a clue as to which state he was in. “Somewhere around Rifle and Parachute. Which state that is, I have no goddamn--”  
  
“Colorado,” John told him, pacing around. “Why are you in Colorado?”  
  
“Well, I’m-- I’m on my way back from Kansas,” Dean answered, trying to stay cheerful, just in case John got a little too angry.   
  
“Kansas?” John repeated. “Kansas? You-- in Kansas. Oh.”  
  
Dean had to smile to himself. “Yeah, oh. I uh-- I went to see Mom. Take Dylan to meet her.”  
  
“And?” John asked.  
  
“Well, she’s not much of a talker these days, but I think Dylan liked it,” Dean replied, glancing into the rear view mirror. “I liked it too,” he finished quietly, clearing his throat. “How’s Sammy doing?” he asked suddenly.  
  
John glanced into Sam’s room, sighing. “He’s awake again. He’s doing okay, I’d have to say. Little cranky, but I think that’s allowed.”  
  
“So-- so you’ve been talking to him?” Dean asked, glancing to the side to check on Dylan.  
  
John nodded, leaning against the wall. “Uh, yeah. A bit. Why?”  
  
“You know what? It’s not that important,” Dean replied. “Listen Dad, I really shouldn’t be on my cell, not driving this truck, not with Dylan. I’m about twelve hours out, now, but I don’t know, we might stop somewhere, okay?”  
  
“Yeah, okay,” John agreed. “I’ll see you sometime tomorrow.”  
  
Dean shut off his phone and set it on the seat, sighing. He glanced down at Dylan, who was smiling up at him. Dean smiled back and looked back to the road, settling into his seat, pressing his foot down on the gas.  
  
 

**…….**

  
Dean swallowed hard and sat down on the swing, holding Dylan close to him, making sure Dylan was all wrapped up in his blankie. “You like the park, Dylan? Mommy said you like the park. The swings.” He shifted Dylan, holding him up to his chest with one hand, the other hand gripping the chain as he began to swing slightly. “Nice to be home, huh?” He looked up when he heard the crunching of the gravel, seeing a young girl, leaning against the swing set. He smiled politely. “Hi.”  
  
“Are you Dean?” the girl asked, digging her foot into the ground.  
  
Dean frowned, but nodded. “Uh, yeah. Who are you?”  
  
“Allison,” the girl said, stepping forward with her hand extended.   
  
Dean stopped swinging and let go of the chain, smiling as he shook Allison’s hand. “Sam’s told me about you.”  
  
Allison smiled and sat down on the swing beside Dean, pushing off. “Where’s Sam?”  
  
Dean’s smile disappeared and he gripped onto the chain again. “Hospital,” he said quietly, looking over at her.  
  
“Oh,” she said softly, looking down at the ground. “That was your apartment on fire then the other day, yeah?”  
  
Dean nodded. “That would be ours. You must live close, huh?”  
  
“Yeah,” Allison said, pointing to a house just a couple houses down the street from the park. “Is Sam okay?”  
  
Dean nodded again. “He will be. He has a concussion and burnt his arm and his lungs. He’s going to come home in a couple weeks though.”  
  
“Are you and Dylan okay?” Allison asked.  
  
Dean shrugged. “I’m fine, a lot better than Sam. And Dylan wasn’t home at the time; he was out with his grampie.”  
  
Allison smiled. “That’s good, right?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, definitely.”  
  
“So how come you’re not at the hospital with Sam?” Allison asked. “He probably misses you.”  
  
“Dylan and I left the-- we went to visit my mother,” Dean replied, “just got back. I wanted to come by and see the apartment, and Sam tells me Dylan likes it here.”  
  
“Where does your mother live?” Allison asked, swinging higher.  
  
“Kansas,” Dean answered automatically, deciding not to tell Allison that Mary, in fact, wasn’t _living_ anywhere.  
  
“Whoa,” Allison said quietly. “That’s far. And you drove?”  
  
Dean nodded. “I’m used to driving a lot. I’ve driven further.”  
  
Allison nodded and smiled when Dylan’s eyes opened and he peeked out at her from his blanket. “He’s a really cute baby, you know.”  
  
“I know,” Dean breathed, looking down at Dylan, seeing that he was awake. “Well hey, Dylan, what’s going on? You awake?” He let go of the swing and lifted Dylan up in front of him, giving him a kiss. “Good sleep, Pickle?”  
  
Allison smiled. “So where are you guys gonna live? Are they rebuilding the apartment?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “For now, we’re in a motel. But we’ll get another apartment or a house sometime, when Sam gets out.” He let Dylan curl back up against his chest, thumb in his mouth. “Just kind of playing it by ear right now.” He took a deep breath and sighed, not really sure why he was talking to a little girl.   
  
“I think you should go visit Sam,” Allison told him.  
  
“Why’s that?” Dean asked, even though he had every intention of going to see Sam when he left; he just wanted to hear Allison’s reasoning.  
  
“Because he loves you,” Allison answered simply.  
  
Dean smiled, chuckling softly. “How do you figure?”  
  
Allison shrugged. “Whenever I talk to him, he always talks about you and Dylan. He probably misses Dylan too.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean agreed.  
  
“And I don’t really know how long it takes to drive to Kansas, but I bet it’s awhile,” Allison continued on. “I bet you haven’t seen Sam in at least a couple days. And even when he’s here, he’s always really eager to go home so he can see you.”  
  
Dean smiled. “You know what Allison? I think you’re right. I think me and Dylan should get going.” He nuzzled Dylan’s head. “Wanna go visit Mommy, Dylan? Yeah, I think you do.” Dean stood up, the swing hitting the back of his legs when he did. “It was nice to meet you, Allison.”  
  
“Nice to meet you too,” Allison said as she kept on swinging.  
  
Dean smiled and shifted Dylan so that he could get a good look at Allison. “Say bye-bye, Dylan, say bye to Allison.”  
  
Allison waved at Dylan. “So, since you’re moving, will you guys ever be back here?”  
  
Dean thought for a moment, before nodding. “We’ll try to be, yeah. Maybe we’ll drop by your house sometime, let Dylan hang out with somebody else for a change, okay?”  
  
Allison grinned and nodded furiously. “Okay. Tell Sam I said hi.”  
  
Dean nodded as he began to walk back to the car. “Most definitely. Be careful, Allison, don’t wanna swing too high. I heard about this one kid who went right over the top and disappeared forever.”  
  
Allison laughed loudly, but when Dean glanced back, she wasn’t swinging as hard.  
  
 

**…….**

  
Dean walked down the hall, shifting Dylan in his arms. He thought that he should probably get around to calling John, let him know that he was back, but he wanted to see Sam. He smiled at Dylan and opened the door, walking into the room. “Hey, Sammy,” he said, trying to sound cheerful.  
  
“Hi,” Sam said flatly, his eyes closed.  
  
“I brought a little visitor,” Dean told him, taking a seat by the bed.  
  
Sam groaned and his eyes flickered open, focusing down on Dylan. Sam finally smiled, glancing up at Dean. “Hi, Dylan,” he said, reaching out to him. He sighed as Dylan’s weight settled in on his chest, for the first time in days. “Oh my god, Dylan, I’ve missed you.” He pressed a kiss to Dylan’s head, tears beginning to well in his eyes. “I’ve missed you, baby, did you miss me? I hope so.”  
  
Dylan cooed and tried to push himself up, his hands pressing into Sam’s chest.  
  
“Is he hurting you?” Dean asked, ready to lift Dylan up.  
  
Sam watched Dylan in wonder, shaking his head slowly. “He’s trying to push himself up. He’s trying to crawl.”  
  
“Yeah, so I’ve noticed,” Dean muttered, settling back down in his chair. “I’m telling ya, Sam, I don’t like this whole growing up thing.”  
  
Sam grinned brightly. “Dad told me you went to Kansas,” he said, looking Dean in the eyes. “What brought that on?”  
  
Dean shrugged, dropping his eyes. “Mom deserves to meet her grandson,” he answered finally, “and Dyl deserves to meet his grandmother.”  
  
“Thought you said it was just a gravestone,” Sam pointed out.  
  
“Yeah well, that wouldn’t stop me from talking to you,” Dean explained. “So it shouldn’t stop me from talking to Mom.”  
  
Sam smiled and sighed, giving Dylan a kiss. “You’re not ever gonna have to do that, Dean. I promise.”  
  
Dean smiled back. “Oh yeah, why is that?”  
  
Sam grinned knowingly. “Well, you’re older than me. And let’s face it, a helluva lot crazier. You’re going to die before I do.”  
  
Dean’s smile waned, but he just shook his head. Finally, he spoke. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 17  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** Sam's finally allowed to leave the hospital, but Dean has to go right back to work  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

 

**six months and fourteen days old**  
  
Dean groaned and lifted his head from John’s shoulder, getting a crick in his neck. He shifted and settled back into his chair, eyes flickering open. “Is he ready yet?” he mumbled, looking up at John.  
  
John cracked his own neck, yawning before shaking his head. “They want to make sure he’s okay before they let him go.”  
  
Dean sighed, nodding. “He hasn’t been out of bed in so long, he’s probably going to be sore. New skin on the arm and everything. He says it’s itchy.”  
  
John chuckled softly, nodding his head. “Yeah, he’s mentioned that a few times to me too.” He smiled down at Dylan, sighing. “So, nobody here’s ever asked you where you got him?”  
  
“Huh?” Dean asked, snapping back to attention. “Uh, no. I don’t know, I guess … they just assume he’s mine and Sam’s a friend or something.”  
  
John snorted, shaking his head. “They’ve never noticed you two kissing?” Just then, a doctor walked out of Sam’s room, coming towards them. He nudged Dean and straightened up, smiling politely.  
  
“You can see Sam now, Mr. Winchester,” the doctor said, stopping in front of Dean.  
  
Dean glanced at John, who was nodding slowly. “Be right back,” Dean said to John, pushing himself up. He followed the doctor into Sam’s room, closing the door behind him. Dean grinned at seeing Sam standing for the first time since he’d been in the hospital. “Hey, Sammy, how you feeling?”  
  
Sam smiled at Dean, “I’m up,” he said, stating the obvious. “Almost ready to go. I just have to get dressed.”  
  
“I see that,” Dean said, stepping towards them. “You sure you want me to be here, Sammy? See ya naked?” he grinned.  
  
Sam nodded, almost blushing. “Yes, Dean, that’s fine.”  
  
“You just have to be careful the skin keeps,” the nurse said, glancing back at him. “If the color changes or it starts to look infected, you need to bring him back.”  
  
“I can still hear though, you know,” Sam said. “You can just talk to me.”  
  
The nurse smiled apologetically and glanced at Dean again. “Just make sure.”  
  
Dean nodded understandingly, swallowing hard as Sam was finally out of the gown, completely naked. He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, glancing up at the nurse and back at the doctor to see how they were looking at Sam. “Me and two ladies, Sammy. How many pornos start out like this?”  
  
The nurse smiled, glancing back at the doctor who was chuckling softly.   
  
Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Dean, don’t.”  
  
“What?” Dean asked innocently. He laughed himself, shaking his head. “Sorry, Sammy, I had to.” He turned to the doctor. “This doesn’t bother you? Him like, getting naked?”  
  
The doctor began to laugh again, shaking her head. “I’ve seen a lot of naked men, Mr. Winchester.”  
  
Dean grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Hear that, Sammy? We’ve got a seasoned professional here.”  
  
“Dean, you’re embarrassing me,” Sam muttered, trying not to laugh. “Where’s Dad?” he asked, trying to change the subject.   
  
“With Dylan, out in the hallway,” Dean answered, finally calming down. “Dylan’s all excited to see you home again.”  
  
“Dean, he’s six months old, I doubt he even knew I was gone,” Sam said softly, head dropping down as he tried to slip his feet into his boxers.  
  
“Of course he did!” Dean protested. “Sam, he loves you. You’re his mother.” He glanced back at the doctor. “Not, his like, actual mother, you know. Just, I’m the dad, Sam’s the mom. He didn’t,” Dean chuckled nervously, “give birth to him or anything like that.”   
  
Sam slowly looked back at him, eyes full of disbelief as he let the nurse pull his jeans up.  
  
Dean chuckled again and shrugged. “So is there anything at home that we need to do for him?”  
  
“A couple of antiseptic creams for his arm,” the doctor answered. “Other than that, he should be fine.”  
  
Dean nodded understandingly then stood up, walking over to Sam and the nurse. “Can I?” he asked the nurse, taking Sam’s shirt from her. “Alright Sammy, good arm first.”  
  
“Which one’s the good arm?” Sam muttered.  
  
“Right arm first,” Dean corrected, helping Sam slip his hand into the sleeve then pulled it up a bit. “Okay, now give me your left.”  
  
Sam moved his arm back with only a tiny grunt of pain and slid it into the sleeve.  
  
Dean pulled the shirt up slowly, trying not to catch on the bandages on Sam’s left arm and trying not to get the fingers of his right hand caught. Finally he got Sam’s shirt up on his shoulders and he nudged Sam to turn around. He began quick work of the buttons, smiling up at Sam. “You’re coming home, Sammy,” he said softly.  
  
Sam glanced at the doctor and nurse and blushed, nodding. “Yeah, I am.” He dropped his eyes and cleared his throat, sighing. “Are we ready to go then?” he asked, looking over Dean’s shoulder to the doctor.  
  
The doctor nodded, smiling. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached into her pocket, bringing out a piece of paper. “You gave this to me when you came in.”  
  
Sam reached out and took the paper, smiling when he remembered what it was. “The picture,” Sam explained, showing it to Dean. “The one that I took from the apartment.”  
  
Dean took the picture from him, studying it. It was from Sam’s birthday, when they were at the beach. John was holding Dylan, who was crying, while Dean was distracted by some girl in the background. He grinned, nodding. “Yeah, that was a good day.”  
  
Sam nodded. “I’m ready to go now.” He grasped onto Dean’s hand, swinging their arms a bit. “Thank you, doctor. Thank everyone that helped us while we were here.”  
  
The doctor nodded and stepped aside, allowing Sam and Dean to walk out the door.   
  
Sam let go of Dean’s hand when he saw John and Dylan down the hall and burst into a sprint, running over to John, who was holding Dylan up on his hip. His eyes filled with tears and he gave Dylan a kiss, before burying his face in John’s neck. “Hi,” he said softly, letting out a tiny sob.   
  
John smiled and shifted Dylan between them, hugging Sam back. “How you feeling, Sammy?”  
  
“Good,” Sam nodded, pulling away to give Dylan another kiss. “Hi, baby! Hi!” He carefully took Dylan from John, ignoring the dull ache in his arm, holding Dylan tightly to him. “Oh my god, Dylan, I’ve missed you. I missed you so much. Did you miss me?” He kissed him again, shifting him to ruffle his blonde hair. He glanced back at Dean, who finally made his way over to them. “I can go home now,” he said, grinning.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said softly, nodding. “You can. Let’s go.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam sat down on the motel bed, smiling. “I’m home.”  
  
John and Dean glanced at each other. “Well, it’s not really, is it Sam?” Dean asked. “I mean, it’s just a motel.”  
  
Sam shook his head, laying back on the bed. “It’s not just a motel. It’s where my dad is and my brother and my son. It’s where _I_ am. That makes it home.” He sighed and closed his eyes, snuggling into the mattress.   
  
John smiled and lifted Dylan out of his car seat, sitting him on his hip. “We’ve missed you too, Sammy.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said softly, sitting down at the table. He sighed and glanced down at his watch, tapping his foot impatiently.  
  
“What’s wrong with him?” Sam asked, lifting his head up.  
  
“He’s supposed to be working today,” John explained.   
  
“I have to go in in twenty minutes,” Dean said, pushing his hair up. “I really don’t want to Sammy, but I mean, Bob’s just--”  
  
Sam pushed himself back up. “Dean, it’s fine. If you have to go to work, go to work.”  
  
“You _just_ got out of the hospital, Sam!” Dean exclaimed.   
  
Sam grinned. “Yeah, I know, Dean. But I also know _I_ ’m not working and _Dad_ ’s not working.” He sighed and stood up, walking over to Dean, getting down on his knees in front of him.  
  
“Uh, am I supposed to be watching this?” John asked, nervously shifting, looking away from them.  
  
Sam glanced back at John, grinning, before turning back to Dean, who was watching him sadly. “Dean, I love you.” He gave Dean a quick peck on the nose. “And as much as I’m sure it sucks, we need you to take care of us.”  
  
Dean sighed and nodded, reaching up to scratch his head. “Yeah,” he said finally.  
  
“And I’m gonna be here when you get back,” Sam pointed out, “I promise.”  
  
Dean sighed again. “I’m just happy to see you home, Sammy.” He smiled, reaching out to brush Sam’s hair off his forehead. “I’m only going to be gone for a few hours, I swear.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Sam assured him quietly. “Dad and I are going to be fine.” Sam sat back on his heels, glancing back at John and Dylan. “I’m kind of just tired anyway, maybe I’ll sleep till you come home. But you should get going, don’t wanna be late.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean muttered, pushing himself up. “I get off at seven, so I’ll be back a few minutes after that.” He leaned down and wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist, helping him up. “Okay, so this is for you.” He gave Sam a quick kiss. “This is for my baby,” he said, turning to Dylan. He ruffled his hair and gave him a kiss then looked up at his father.   
  
“Uh…” John started, watching Dean carefully.  
  
“Yeah, I’m just gonna head out,” Dean said finally. He turned to the door before stopping. “Aw, what the hell.” He turned back around and leaned up to John, lips puckered.  
  
“Christ, Dean!” John yelled, jokingly pushing Dean away. “Get to work!”  
  
Dean laughed and patted John on the shoulder, opening up the door. “See y’all later.”  
  
Sam laughed and gently lifted Dylan up, holding him onto his hip. “Pickle want a bath? Dylan want a bath?” He smiled at John. “So what do _you_ wanna do?”  
  
John chuckled softly before shrugging. “You wanna give Dylan a bath, go for it.” He reached out and ruffled Sam’s hair, before ruffling Dylan’s. “What do you wanna do?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “I think I’m kind of hungry.”  
  
“Well alright then, let’s go get something to eat,” John said, grabbing his keys.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam gave Dylan the paper wrapping for his straw, reaching out to grab a fry off John’s tray. He blew raspberry on the back on Dylan’s head then took a sip of soda.   
  
“Wait,” John said suddenly.  
  
Sam looked up at him. “Yeah?”  
  
“Are you allo-- _supposed_ to be drinking that?” John asked carefully.  
  
Sam glanced down at his soda, shrugging. “I don’t know. I guess.”  
  
“Caffeine,” John said simply, seeing if that could get Sam to change his answer.  
  
“Oh, I’m okay with that now,” Sam assured him. “Just no coffee anymore. That was the worst.”  
  
“Oh, okay,” John said, nodding. “So that-- that’s over? We haven’t actually talked about it yet, since I’ve been back.”  
  
Sam sighed, taking another fry. “There’s not really much to talk about. I just-- I made a couple mistakes and I ended up in the hospital. I went to see a doctor for a couple months. I still see him sometimes.”  
  
John nodded, taking a drink. “You mentioned that, when I called.”  
  
Dylan giggled loudly and flapped an arm, letting go of the straw wrapper. He reached up and grabbed at Sam’s shirt, yanking on it.  
  
“Okay, Dylan, just a second,” Sam said, setting his drink down. “What do you want?” He leaned down, looking Dylan in the eyes. “Want a bottle or a toy?” He sighed and leaned down a bit more, opening up Dylan’s diaper bag. He tightened his hold on Dylan, grabbing a bottle. He sat that on the table then went back into the bag to grab a couple toys. “Okay, what do you want, Dylan? What do you want?” Sam shifted Dylan closer to the table, letting him pick what he wanted. “You want something, baby?”  
  
“So what’s it like being a mommy?” John asked, grinning.  
  
“Shut up,” Sam muttered, grabbing another one of John’s fries. “I’m just-- Dean’s the dad.”  
  
John chuckled softly. “How are you doing, Sammy?” he asked quietly, smile disappearing. “Are you okay?”  
  
“I’ve never been better,” Sam answered.   
  
“That’s good,” John said, nodding. “So, uh, has he started to talk yet?”  
  
Sam looked at John in confusion, slowly shaking his head. “Uh, Dad, I’m not _quite_ sure where you’re from, but where _we’re_ from, Dylan’s only six months old.”  
  
John smiled, shrugging. “Just checking. It might be nice to have another genius in the family.”  
  
Sam looked at John in confusion again. “Huh?”  
  
John leaned across the table, ruffling Dylan’s hair. “You gonna get a scholarship to Stanford like Mommy?”  
  
Sam blushed and ducked his head. “I’m not a genius, Dad. And I didn’t start talking when I six months either.”  
  
John smiled. “Whatever you say, Sammy.”  
  
Sam reached across the table and grabbed John’s straw wrapper, handing that one to Dylan also. “There ya go, Dylan, a new one for ya.”  
  
Dylan put his fists up on the table and grunted, looking over the table at John.   
  
John smiled and waved, sticking his tongue out.  
  
Dylan shrieked and giggled, wiggling on Sam’s lap.  
  
Sam sighed and shifted Dylan, grabbing onto his burger. “Dad, can I ask you something?”  
  
“Shoot,” John said, nodding once sharply.  
  
“Do you think Dean and I should keep hunting?” Sam asked quietly. “I mean, looking back, I turned out alright and so did Dean and I think Dean really wants to do this, Dad. Keep on keeping on.”  
  
“Well, do you want Dylan to be raised like that?” John asked. “Like you were?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Maybe, I don’t know. But I want Dean to be happy, and Dylan’s a Winchester, so it’s in his blood.”  
  
“Sam, you can’t even really hunt anymore, can you?” John asked. “I mean, your hand … you were right- handed when I taught you everything. And Dean’s ankle.”  
  
“Dean’s ankle is a lot better than he gives himself credit for,” Sam said to John quickly.   
  
“Sam, it sounds like _you_ wanna keep hunting,” John stated. “Do you want to keep hunting?” He picked up his soda.  
  
Sam quieted down and dropped his eyes, giving Dylan a piece of his hamburger bun, to eat or play with. “Dad, Dean and I have gotten hurt more since we settled down than before. Turns out, normal’s not really working for us.”  
  
“Sam, do you want my honest opinion?” John asked quietly.  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, that’d help.”  
  
“When Dylan starts school, you’re going to need a house,” John began, “so if you’re hunting, you won’t be working, which means it’s going to be a crappy little trailer paid for by Dean’s pool and poker.”  
  
Sam cleared his throat and nodded.  
  
“And you’re not going to wanna take Dylan with you everywhere, which means you’re going to stay home with him,” John continued on, “which means Dean is going to be going out, alone, every time. Sam, you’ll never see Dean, Dylan will never see Dean. I don’t want you to hunt anymore. Okay?”  
  
Sam nodded once. “Okay.”  
  
“Okay,” John said again. “Anything else?”  
  
Sam swallowed hard and picked at his food, fixing the edge of his burger wrapper. “I don’t wanna live in California anymore,” he admitted quietly.   
  
John sighed and rubbed his face, shaking his head. “Sam, how many life changes do you plan on bringing up over this burger?”  
  
“It was nice to have Dylan here,” Sam continued on, ignoring John’s statement, “but I did a lot of thinking in the hospital and-- and--” he sighed, “and I don’t want Dylan to live here. I don’t want him to grow up here.”  
  
“What does Dean have to say about all this?” John asked.  
  
Sam shook his head. “I haven’t told him. I can’t. Dad, he loves it here. He loves his job; Bob’s probably the best boss he’s ever going to get, as much as I hate to admit it. Dean’ll hate me forever if I make him leave.”  
  
“Maybe it’s just Anaheim,” John suggested. “It’s a big place. Maybe you’re just more of a small-town guy, Sammy. There’s a lot of small towns around here, Dean can make the drive. Why don’t you talk to him about that?”  
  
Sam huffed, making a small face. “I guess,” he said, a whine coming into his voice.  
  
John huffed right back, setting his hands on the table. “Sam, I’m your father, okay? I can’t solve all these problems for you, okay? You’re going to need to talk to Dean about this.”  
  
“I’m only twenty-four, I can’t make all these decisions,” Sam said, the whine a lot more evident. “I can’t do this, Dad, you have to help.”  
  
“Sam, you have a kid now, you _have_ to make some of your own decisions,” John chastised. “You’re not a kid anymore. You have to grow up.”  
  
“I grew up when I was like, nine,” Sam muttered. He sighed and shook his head, rubbing his eyes. “Dad, it’s different for me and Dean, okay?”  
  
“Sam, I know that,” John snapped, leaning across the table. “I know that! Your mother and I had it easy, compared to you two. But I swear, I promise, there’s not that much else that can go wrong. You’ve had him, he’s had his first sickness, he’s teething, almost starting to crawl, and the--” he cut himself off, knowing Sam would know what he meant. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. Just wait, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, smiling thankfully. “Thanks, Dad,” he said softly. “Dad, can-- can I ask you something?”  
  
John sighed and sat back in his chair, nodding. “Shoot.”  
  
“Did you--” Sam cleared his throat, lifting Dylan up a bit, shifting him on his lap. “When Mom died, did you ever … blame me?”  
  
John’s eyes opened wide and he instantly began shaking his head furiously. “Sam, no--”  
  
“I just, you were always tougher on me, than Dean,” Sam continued on, cutting his father off, “and I kind of always thought, you know, once I knew what really happened to Mom, that you blamed me.”  
  
“Sam, I’m-- god, this is quite the lunch we’re having today, isn’t it?” John asked, chuckling sadly. “Too bad Dean’s missing out.”  
  
Sam gave John a small smile.  
  
“Sam, I never blamed you,” John answered finally. “Never. You were just a baby. And you’re my son. Even if-- _if_ it was your fault, you’re my son. I’m sorry you thought that I did. But I never did. Okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, smiling in relief. “I just did a lot of thinking in the hospital,” he said again as his explanation. “I didn’t mean it as-- as like I thought you were a bad father or anything, I didn’t mean that.”  
  
“I didn’t think you did,” John said, smiling down at Dylan.  
  
Dylan grunted again and sighed, trying to push himself up to grab at Sam’s burger and fries.  
  
“Sam, make sure he doesn’t--” John stopped talking when Dylan hit Sam’s soda, knocking it over, Coke spilling everywhere.  
  
“Shit!” Sam yelled, jumping up from his seat. “Dylan!”  
  
Dylan began to screech, bawling loudly, tears running down his face.  
  
John stood up, grabbing more napkins. “It’s okay, Sammy, I’ll get it.” He knelt down first, laying the napkins on the floor, soaking up the soda. “Did he get any on him?”  
  
Sam studied Dylan quickly, shaking his head. “That was bad, Dylan! Bad, okay? Don’t do that again.”  
  
Dylan continued to cry, hiccupping every so often from his deep breaths.  
  
Sam sighed and calmed down, rubbing Dylan’s back. “I’m sorry, Dylan, I didn’t mean to yell, I’m sorry.” He pressed his lips to Dylan’s forehead, shushing him softly. “It’s okay, Dylan, it’s okay, shh, stop crying.” Sam began to sway back and forth, humming. “It’s okay, Dylan. Shh, calm down, it’s all okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.” He gave him another kiss, eyes closing. “Shh, Mommy’s here. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s okay. I’m sorry, Dylan. Please stop crying.”  
  
John pushed himself up, wiping his hands off his jeans. “Okay, come here, Dylan, come see Grampie.” He took Dylan from Sam, giving him a kiss of his own. “Wanna go get paper towel from the washroom?”  
  
Sam sighed and nodded, wiping at his eyes. “I didn’t mean to yell,” he said, swallowing hard.  
  
“Sam, it’s okay,” John assured him. “I’ve got Dylan, you go get paper towel.”  
  
Sam nodded and walked away from the table, apologizing to a couple of the other patrons, before pushing open the door to the bathroom. He took a deep breath and sighed, getting paper towel. He swallowed hard and glanced at himself in the mirror. He groaned and rubbed at his eyes, yawning softly. He sniffled and walked back out of the bathroom, ducking his head as he made his way back to the table, where Dylan had stopped crying. “Got the paper towel,” Sam said softly, holding it up to John.  
  
“Yup,” John said, giving Dylan a kiss. “Here ya go.” He handed Dylan off and took the paper towel, wiping off the table.  
  
Sam looked around the restaurant nervously, biting his lip. He sat down in his seat, staying close to the edge to avoid getting his jeans wet on the spot of soda near the middle. “Forgive me, Dylan?” he asked softly, holding Dylan in front of him. “I didn’t mean to yell, I didn’t. I swear. I’m sorry, Dylan.” He reached up and brushed his thumb across Dylan’s red cheek, wiping his tears, before kissing him. He glanced up at John, sighing. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay, Sammy,” John said, turning around to go to the trash a few steps away. “See, everything’s taken care of. You just need to watch what he’s doing now, now that he’s getting older.”  
  
Sam nodded understandingly, holding Dylan close to him. “I probably wasn’t supposed to be drinking soda anyway,” he muttered, closing his eyes.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
“Honey, I’m home!” Dean called, closing the door behind him.  
  
John just raised an eyebrow, watching Dean from over his paper. “Hi, sweetie,” he said, grinning.  
  
Dean smiled back and looked around. “Where are Sammy and Dylan?”  
  
John glanced towards the bathroom. “Sam is giving Dylan a bath.”  
  
Dean frowned. “I don’t think-- he’s not supposed to, he only has one hand to hold him up.”  
  
John just smiled knowingly. “He’s got it under control, Dean, go see for yourself.”  
  
Dean sighed and walked over to the bathroom door, knocking lightly before pushing it open. “Hey, Sammy.”  
  
Sam smiled up at Dean from the bathtub, grasping onto Dylan’s wrist, making him wave. “Hi, honey.”  
  
Dean shook his head in disbelief, smiling as he sat down on the floor beside the tub, leaning against it. “Well, hi, Dylan, how are you?” He reached into the tub and got his finger wet, dabbing it on Dylan’s nose.  
  
Dylan looked up at Sam, clapping his hands and shrieking. He made a small gurgling sound and kicked his legs, smacking his fists against the water.  
  
“How was your day?” Sam asked, shifting in the tub, the length too short for his legs.   
  
“Nice,” Dean said softly, watching Dylan. “Sam…”  
  
“Yeah?” Sam asked, tickling Dylan’s stomach gently.  
  
“Our son is gorgeous,” Dean finished softly, smiling at Sam. “And he’s ours.”  
  
Sam grinned. “That he is.”  
  
Dean sighed, leaning in to give Dylan a kiss, blowing raspberry on his chest. “Hi, Dylan. How are you?”  
  
Dylan watched Dean carefully, cooing softly.  
  
“Good day, huh?” Dean asked, pushing himself up onto his knees, getting closer to him. “I love you, Dylan.”  
  
Dylan smiled and laughed, reaching out to grab onto Dean’s nose.  
  
Sam laughed loudly, reaching out to grab Dean’s nose himself.  
  
Dean stuck his tongue out at Sam, reaching into the tub to cup water in his hand. He brought it up and dumped it on Sam’s head, smirking.  
  
Sam’s mouth opened wide and he whispered something in Dylan’s ear, Dean frowning.  
  
Dylan squirmed in Sam’s arms, making a whirring sound before looking up at Dean.  
  
“What’d Mommy say to you?” Dean asked, reaching up to wipe off his nose. “Sammy, what did you tell our son?”  
  
Sam shrugged and laughed, shaking his head. “Just that his daddy’s a big doofus who needs to get in the tub.”  
  
Dean snorted and laughed. “Yeah right, Sammy, you can barely fit in that thing. I don’t wanna squish our kid here.”  
  
Sam smiled. “I was actually thinking later, when Dylan’s asleep.” He winked and leaned over to Dean, giving him a kiss. “Maybe if Dad goes out.”  
  
Dean’s eyes filled with understanding and he nodded eagerly. “I think that can be arranged.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 18  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** On Halloween, Dean and Sam begin to fight  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

 

**six months and nineteen days old**  
  
Dean sighed, looking around. “Sam, I can’t walk for much longer, my ankle’s killing me.”  
  
Sam glanced back at him and stopped pushing the stroller. “Is it okay? Are you okay?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, it’s just sore,” he assured Sam. “It’s getting stiff.”  
  
Sam sighed and looked around the mall. “Well, let’s just sit down for a couple minutes, see if Dylan wants anything, give you a chance to rest.” He reached back and linked fingers with Dean, leading him a few feet away to a bench, sitting down.  
  
Dean sat down slowly, sighing in relief when the pressure was taken off his ankle. “Oh, thank god,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “How much longer are we going to be here, Sam?”  
  
Sam shrugged, lifting Dylan out of his stroller. “I don’t know. We got all the stuff on the list, I guess we can leave whenever. I just wanted to be out and about, instead of in that freakin’ motel room all day long again.”  
  
Dean yawned loudly, reaching into the stroller, trying to find one of Dylan’s toys. He pulled out Dylan’s rattle and shook it at Dylan, letting him take it as he yawned again. As he stretched out his legs he started looking around at the kids in the mall, at the displays in the stores. Dean turned to face Sam, eyes wide. “It’s Halloween, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yup,” Sam answered, not even looking at Dean. “October thirty-first.”  
  
“I love Halloween,” Dean said softly, almost sadly. “I’m missing out on Halloween. Sammy, it’s Dylan’s first Halloween! I will not stand for this!” He jumped up, before the pain shot up from his ankle again. He groaned and flopped back down on the bench, Sam laughing and shaking his head. “Can we take him trick or treating?”  
  
“Can we take a six-month-old baby trick or treating?” Sam repeated, turning to face Dean. “No, Dean. He can’t eat any of it anyway.”  
  
Dean pouted, batting his eyelashes at Sam. “Please? Please, Sammy?”  
  
“Dean, stop it,” Sam commanded.  
  
“Well, fuck you then,” Dean muttered, slouching down.  
  
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, sliding closer to Dean on the bench. He held Dylan up a bit, letting his son reach out to Dean.   
  
Dean sighed and took Dylan, giving him a kiss. “I’m sorry I swore, Dylan,” Dean apologized, looking Dylan in the eyes. “I’m sorry. But Daddy _really_ likes Halloween. Really. Don’t you wanna get a bunch of candy and then let Daddy and Mommy and Grampie eat it all?” Dean grinned as Dylan’s eyes lit up, shrieking. “Yes, Dylan, I knew you would agree.”  
  
“Please don’t corrupt him,” Sam said, digging through his pockets. “I’ll make you a deal.”  
  
“Dean Winchester makes no deals, Sammy,” Dean said, glancing over at him.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “We’ll buy candy you candy. We’ll rent a couple movies. Bam, you have your Halloween.”  
  
“Deal,” Dean agreed.  
  
“Okay, fine, then get up,” Sam said, pushing himself up. He lifted Dylan up out of Dean’s arms and set him back in the stroller.  
  
“Sammy, my ankle’s killing me,” Dean reminded him, but he stood up anyway.  
  
“You can push the stroller,” Sam told him, moving out of the way. “Lean on that.” He leaned down and gave Dean a kiss, sighing as he pulled back, resting his forehead against Dean’s. “Now, come on, Dad’s probably wondering where we are, or starving to death or something.”  
  
“Dad’d go shoot something before he starved to death,” Dean pointed out, giving Sam another kiss. “Alright, let’s go find some candy.” He began pushing the stroller, taking his weight off of his ankle. He groaned in relief, but his eyes narrowed in suspicion has Sam began walking ahead. “You just didn’t wanna push the stroller anymore, did you?”  
  
“Not particularly,” Sam admitted, glancing back.  
  
Dean glared at Sam.  
  
Sam stopped walking, a smile on his face. “What? It’s _hard_ , Dean. I only have one good hand, you know.”  
  
“Throw that in my face why don’t you,” Dean muttered. “You know, if both of us used every injury we’ve ever gotten as an excuse to not do something, we’d never leave the bed.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “I’d have no problem with that. In fact, it sounds kind of nice.” He stuck his tongue out and grinned, making sure Dean got his point. “But alas, you have to work. And, oh yeah, we have a son.” He sighed when Dylan began to cry, bawling from his stroller. “And a very demanding one at that.” He stopped walking and crouched down, waving at Dylan. “See, Dylan, we didn’t leave you, we’re still right here.” He reached in and unbuckled Dylan, awkwardly lifting him up and out. “Come on, let’s get Daddy’s candy.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean rolled on the bed, watching the screen. “No matter how many times I see this…”  
  
John just watched Dean carefully, wondering if either of his sons had ever actually been scared of this movie. “I saw this movie when it came out,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Fuck, I’m old.”  
  
Sam laughed softly, shifting Dylan on his lap. “Cover your eyes, Dylan,” he said quietly, turning away from the screen, gasping when one of the characters on screen screamed. “I _hate_ this movie,” he told Dean, looking up at him, “and this floor is hard.”  
  
Dean laughed, rolling on the bed again. “Aw, poor baby, getting scared from a little horror movie?” He laughed again, shaking his head. “Have some more candy, Sam, it’ll make ya forget your troubles.” He dropped the bag of gummy worms down onto the floor beside Sam, grabbing the remote. Dean turned the television up a bit, laughing as a body fell out of the closet on screen. “God, I love this movie. I’m so happy we got the sequels too.”  
  
Sam mumbled and groaned, grabbing the bag of gummy worms. He took one out, quickly eating it. “Do you wanna watch this movie, Dylan?” Sam asked softly, nuzzling Dylan’s cheek with his nose, getting his son’s eyes back on him. “No, you don’t. You wanna go have a bath or something?”  
  
“Leave him,” Dean commanded. “Let him watch the movie, he loves it.” He reached down and ruffled Dylan’s hair, leaving it sticking up.   
  
Sam sighed and tried to settle back in, but the floor was getting worse by the second. He set Dylan down on the floor then pushed himself up, lifting Dylan back up again. “Dad, will you hold him for a while?” Sam asked, walking over to John. “My hand’s killing me.”  
  
John set down his coffee, nodding. “Yup.” He took Dylan from Sam, sitting him on his lap.  
  
Sam sighed and walked back over to the bed, laying down on it by Dean, his head on the pillows, his feet by Dean’s head.  
  
“Sam, watch the movie,” Dean said, pushing himself up to glance back at Sam. “Come on, it’s not _that_ bad.”  
  
“You know how much I hate horror movies,” Sam muttered, glaring down at Dean. “Now leave me alone, I’m tired.” He closed his eyes and settled into the mattress, yawning softly.  
  
Dean patted Sam’s leg softly, nodding. “You’re such a woman, Sammy.”  
  
Sam groaned and kicked blindly, hitting Dean’s shoulder. “Shut up.”  
  
Dean sighed, shifting on the bed. “Dylan likes it, don’t ya Dylan?” He looked over to John and smiled at Dylan, waving. “Dylan loves it.”  
  
“Great,” Sam muttered. “Just great. Give me back my gummy worms.”  
  
Dean groaned and reached down, grabbing the bag. He tossed it back to Sam. “There, now shut up and let me finish the movie.”  
  
Sam groaned and kicked Dean again, grabbing a handful of worms before throwing the bag at Dean, hitting him.  
  
“Christ, Sam,” Dean cried, sitting up quickly. “That kind of hurt.”  
  
Sam sat up too, shoving a gummy worm into his mouth. “Well, it kind of hurt when you hit me with it too.” He threw a gummy worm, hitting Dean on the cheek. “And turn down the movie, please. I’m tired.”  
  
“I’m tired,” Dean mocked, throwing the gummy worm back.  
  
“Would you two stop it?” John asked, exasperated. “Christ, it’s like you two are kids again.”  
  
Dean and Sam both turned to glare at John.  
  
Sam pushed himself up and reached for the remote, grabbing it before Dean could smack his fingers away. He aimed it at the television and was about to press the volume button before Dean grabbed onto his hand, trying to get the remote back. “Dean, I’m just turning down the TV!”  
  
“You have to ask!” Dean yelled, grabbing onto the remote with one hand and began peeling Sam’s fingers off the remote with the other.   
  
“That’s not fair!” Sam cried, yanking hard. “I only have one good hand!”  
  
“Ask me nicely and I’ll turn it down for you!” Dean exclaimed. “Ask me _nicely_!”  
  
“I don’t need to!” Sam yelled. “It’s my remote too!”  
  
Dean yanked hard, finally pulling the remote out of Sam’s hand.  
  
“Ow!” Sam cried, examining his fingers. “That hurt, Dean!” He moved down on the bed, shoving Dean down. “Give me the remote!”   
  
“No!” Dean shifted on the bed, reaching up to lightly slap Sam’s cheek. “Ask me nicely!”  
  
Sam clutched at his cheek, staring down at Dean, before looking up at John. “Dad, he just hit me!”  
  
John groaned, shaking his head. “At least take it outside, please. There’s a baby in here.”  
  
Sam swung his fist, hitting Dean’s jaw, smirking when Dean let go out of the remote. He turned down the volume, tossing the remote back at Dean.  
  
Dean stared at Sam, before grabbing the remote, turning it back up, to full blast this time. Next, he tossed the remote under the bed. “Try and turn it down now, Sammy!” He smirked.  
  
“I hate you!” Sam yelled, standing up. He dropped to the floor and reached under the bed, hand swiping over the carpet, trying to find the remote. “Where the fuck--”  
  
Dean carefully pushed himself up on the bed and began bouncing up and down, trying to get the mattress or bed frame to hit Sam.  
  
“Stop it!” Sam snapped, pulling his arm out from under the bed. He stood up and then shoved Dean, before walking over to the television, pressing the volume button.  
  
“Yes, stop it!” John yelled. “God, stop it! You’re not children anymore, you’re adults. Stop fighting.”   
  
Sam smirked and leaned against the dresser, sticking his tongue out at Dean. “Yeah, Dean, you’re an adult. Stop fighting.”  
  
“That’s it,” Dean muttered, pushing himself up off the bed. He walked quickly over to Sam, shoving him into the dresser. Next, he wrapped an arm around Sam’s neck, pulling him down into a headlock.  
  
Sam fell down to his knees and blindly threw his fists, hitting Dean’s stomach. “Let me go.”  
  
“Only if you promise to shut up,” Dean answered.  
  
Sam shook his head, squirming to get out of Dean’s hold. “Let me go!” He punched Dean in the knee and finally pulled his head out of Dean’s grip, falling to the floor. He struggled to push himself up, but before he could, Dean was down, sitting on his thighs, keeping him down. He reached up and hit Dean.  
  
Dean punched Sam on the cheek, before grabbing onto his wrists, pinning him down. “Try and get out of this, Sammy.”  
  
Sam struggled in Dean’s hold, before finally rolling himself enough to roll Dean off him.  
  
“I’m not putting up with this,” John muttered, standing up. He shifted Dylan on his hip, giving him a kiss. “Dylan and I will be outside, when you two are done.” He walked around Sam and Dean, grabbing his jacket. He opened up the door and walked outside, closing the door behind him.  
  
Dean brought a leg up, pressing a foot to Sam’s chest, rolling him off him.   
  
Sam rolled over Dean, smacking into the nightstand, the lamp teetering. He reached up to rub at the back of his head, taking a deep breath. “Dean, can we just turn down the fucking television?”  
  
Dean stood up, shaking his head. “Hell no, Sammy.” He smiled and walked over to Sam, extending his hand.  
  
Sam swiped his leg, making sure not to hit Dean’s bad ankle, sending Dean down to the bed, before he slid off, falling to the floor in front of Sam.  
  
Dean sighed, studying Sam. Neither of them spoke, just watched each other carefully, before finally, Dean spoke up. “Is your head okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, pushing himself up. “Are you okay?”  
  
Dean nodded, moving on the floor to get closer to Sam. “That was interesting, huh?”  
  
Sam nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Well, when you don’t have sex for a month … need to get the tension out somehow.”  
  
Dean chuckled, nodding. “Good point. I mean, if it wasn’t for our … situation,” he glanced back to the door where they could see John pacing around, “I’d be having sex every night.”  
  
“With me, I hope,” Sam joked, grinning. He took a deep breath, sighing. “I just wanted to get to sleep, I’m tired.”  
  
Dean nodded, leaning in to give Sam a kiss. He shifted on the floor, getting closer to him.  
  
Sam brought his hand up, lightly grasping at the front of Dean’s shirt, making sure Dean didn’t move away. “I love you,” he breathed, pressing his lips back to Dean’s, slipping his tongue into Dean’s mouth.   
  
John opened up the door, groaning when he saw his sons kissing. “Jesus, it’s just hot and cold with you two, isn’t it?”   
  
Sam jumped and pulled away, smiling shyly up at John and Dean just grinned, nodding. “Yeah, pretty much,” Dean admitted. “We apologized, I stopped being an ass, it’s okay now. It’s safe.” He pushed himself up, taking Dylan from John, smiling at his father. “Well, let’s continue on with the movie marathon, shall we?” He turned to face Sam, grinning.  
  
“Dean, no!” Sam protested, rolling onto his stomach. He practically dove under the bed, trying to grab the remote. “I don’t want to watch it anymore!”  
  
“Sam, just give it up, we’re going to finish watching the movie,” Dean told him, sitting down, holding Dylan close. He settled into the chair, grabbing the bag of sour keys. He pulled one out and stuck the end in his mouth, finally getting back to the movie.  
  
John leaned down, patting Sam on the shoulder. “Just let him watch this one,” he whispered, nodding.   
  
“Fine,” Sam muttered, pushing himself up onto the bed. He laid down and shifted on the bed, taking a deep breath. He reached for the bag of gummy worms, grabbing another handful.   
  
Dean stood up and sat down on the bed, rubbing Sam’s back, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of his neck. “I’ll only make you watch this one and then we can watch what you wanna watch.” He stopped and thought for a second. “The Vagina Monologues, or something.”  
  
Sam groaned and was about to smack at Dean again, before he realized Dean was still holding onto Dylan. “Then just shut up and watch it, Dean,” he mumbled, reaching up to fluff his pillows.   
  
Dean laid down on the bed in the position he had started out in; on his stomach, feet up by the pillows, watching the television. He sat Dylan down beside him, making sure to watch his son just as much as he was watching the movie.  
  
“Lay him down,” Sam told Dean, not even having to look up to know that Dylan was sitting up.  
  
Dean sighed and sat up a bit, laying Dylan down beside him. “There ya go, baby,” Dean said softly, pushing himself up. He smiled down at Dylan, leaning on his elbow. He reached under Dylan’s shirt just a bit, tickling his stomach. He giggled when Dylan did and glanced over at John, who was sucking on the end of one of Dean’s sour keys. Dean settled back onto the bed, but watched Dylan this time, his cheek pressed to the sheets.  
  
Dylan looked at Dean right back, bright, green eyes carefully watching his father. He cooed and smiled, tiny hand reaching out to Dean, grabbing onto the ends of Dean’s hair. He shrieked and giggled, before trying to push himself up on the bed, his bottom lip stuck out in determination.  
  
“Just settle down, Dylan,” Dean said softly, setting a hand on Dylan’s back, not pushing him down, but keeping Dylan from pushing up.  
  
Sam sat up suddenly and lifted Dylan up from the foot of the bed and laid back down, holding Dylan close to him.  
  
“Um, excuse me, Sam, I was playing with him!” Dean exclaimed, sitting up on the bed.  
  
“Well now it’s my turn,” Sam snapped, pressing a kiss to Dylan’s cheek. “Sleep with Mommy, Dylan, you must be tired.”  
  
Dean sighed and looked over at John, who was just shaking his head.   
  
“Leave him alone, Dean,” John told him, “and finish your movie.”  
  
Dean sighed again and laid back down on the bed, going back to the movie. “Fine.”  
  
Sam smiled at Dylan and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you, Dylan,” he said softly, careful not to hold Dylan too close, too hard. “I love you so much.”  
  
“So I have to ask,” John said suddenly, straightening up. “What the hell’s going on with you two? You two haven’t fought like that since Sam was fourteen.”  
  
Dean glanced back at Sam, who was watching him right back. “Don’t ask me,” Dean muttered, laying back down, head on his hands, staring at the screen.  
  
John looked over at Sam expectantly.  
  
Sam shrugged, wiggling his finger in Dylan’s grip. “I don’t know,” he said, equally as soft.  
  
John sighed, reaching up to rub his eyes and scratch at his chin. “Fine then. But if you two can’t figure it out…well, just figure it out, okay?” He took another sour key before pushing himself up. “I’m going to take a shower. Please don’t kill each other while I’m gone.” He waved down at Dylan and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.  
  
Sam studied Dean, watching him carefully.  
  
Dean sat up and turned to face Sam, his teeth nibbling away at the inside of his lip.  
  
Sam swallowed hard and reached up to push his hair off his forehead, settling into the mattress. “Well,” he said finally, eyes dropping as soon as he said it. “He’s right, you know.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Dean agreed. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “So what are we doing? Why are we fighting?” Dean began crawling up the mattress, curling into Sam when he got to the head of the bed. “I love you,” he told Sam, looking up at his eyes.  
  
“I love you too,” Sam assured him, pressing a kiss to Dean’s head.  
  
“Well now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Dean began, resting his head against Sam’s arm, “what’s wrong with us?”  
  
“We’re the parents of a six-month-old baby,” Sam began. “You work, I stay home. I’ve been in the hospital, _twice_. Our apartment burned down and we’re living in a motel. We’re stressed out and tired, Dean. _That_ ’s what’s wrong with us.”  
  
Dean took a deep breath, groaning. “Well, that sucks.”  
  
Sam had to laugh at that. “Yeah, it does,” he agreed, a smile on his face, “but we have Dylan, we have Dad.”  
  
Dean nodded. “God, this is so cheesy,” he said finally, breaking out into giggles. He fell back onto the bed, looking up at Dylan. “Hey, Dylan, do you want some candy?”  
  
“Dean, no,” Sam told him, eyes going wide.  
  
“Oh, quiet Sam, this is going to be hilarious,” Dean assured him, pushing himself up off the bed. He grabbed the bag of sour keys and sat back down on the bed. “What color shall we give him?”  
  
Sam pretended to think for a moment. “Hmm, what color should the candy be that we tease and torture our son with? Gee, I don’t know, Dean.” He looked at him in disbelief. “Seriously, Dean.”  
  
“Green it is,” Dean smiled, pulling the key out. “Matches his eyes,” he observed, holding it up.  
  
“No it doesn’t,” Sam told him, rolling his eyes, but he shifted Dylan on his lap anyway. “His eyes are greener,” he muttered.  
  
“Sit still, Dylan,” Dean said, leaning down a bit, “and just open up.” He held the end of the sour candy up to Dylan’s mouth, offering it to him. “Don’t you want the candy, Dylan? Open your mouth, Dylan.”  
  
“Dean, just leave him alone,” Sam sighed, “he obviously doesn’t want it. And he’s our son, not some toy.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Sam, it’s sugar. What kind of kid doesn’t like sugar? Here ya go, Dylan, here ya go.”  
  
Dylan focused down on the candy, before wiggling on Sam’s lap. He reached out and grabbed the candy out of Dean’s fingers, lifting his arm up.  
  
“No, that’s for you,” Dean told Dylan, a smile still on his face. “That’s for _you_ , Dylan, just put it in your mouth.”  
  
“Christ,” Sam muttered, shaking his head. “Fine.” He took the candy out of Dylan’s fingers and put the end between Dylan’s lips lightly. “Taste this, Dylan.”  
  
Dylan sucked the end of the candy in and it only took a second before they knew Dylan had tasted the sugar. His face scrunched up and he pulled away from the candy, cheeks red.  
  
Dean laughed, raising his hand. “High five, Sammy.”  
  
Sam dropped the candy down on the bed and lifted Dylan up, rubbing his back. “Yeah, high five,” he said, giving Dylan a kiss. “It’s okay, Dylan, it was just sugar, it’ll be gone soon.”   
  
Dean sighed and smiled, watching Dylan and Sam. “So…are we okay?”  
  
Sam looked up at Dean, a small smile on his face. “Yeah,” he nodded. He leaned over and gave Dean a soft kiss, tongue coming out when he pulled away. “We’re okay.”  
 


	19. Chapter 19

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 19  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** This year's Thanksgiving is a _lot_ different than last year's  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

**seven months and ten days old**  
  
Sam groaned and stretched out in the bed, his head almost knocking into the headboard and his feet slipped off the end of the mattress, coming out from under the sheets. That made him groan again as the cold air hit his toes and he curled back up onto his side. He took a deep breath and sighed, blowing cool air over Dean’s chest.  
  
Dean’s eyes flickered and he made a small noise but he didn’t wake.  
  
Sam smiled slightly and pressed a kiss to Dean’s chest, nuzzling his skin. He gave him another kiss before settling back into the bed, curling up to Dean. The sun was coming in through the windows, filling the room with light.   
  
Dean sighed in his sleep and rolled over a bit, turning away from Sam. His lips smacked and his fingers fanned out on the sheets before he finally rolled over all the way, onto his stomach.  
  
Sam sat up a bit and glanced over at the other bed; John sleeping with one hand possessively on Dylan’s stomach, making sure he didn’t move. He laid back down beside Dean, throwing one arm over Dean’s back, laying half on him.  
  
“Sam?”   
  
Sam lifted his head and looked back towards his father, smiling. “Morning, Dad. What’s going on?”  
  
John shrugged, yawning loudly. Dylan stirred under John’s hand and John leaned down, giving him a kiss. “Just woke up.”  
  
“Yup,” Sam nodded, reaching down to pull up the bed sheets up further. “Dylan sleep okay?”  
  
John nodded. “He woke up a couple times, I made sure he didn’t wake you two up.”  
  
Sam smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Dad. You’re so good with him. Dean too.” He shifted on the bed, yawning again.  
  
“You’ll get better at it, Sam,” John assured him. “It just takes time.”  
  
Sam sighed. “He’s seven months old, Dad. By the time I get used to taking care of a baby, he’s not going to _be_ a baby anymore.”  
  
John half-smiled, nodding understandingly. “Sammy, you’re doing fine with him. I’ve seen you with him; you’re great. He loves you, you’re his mo-- _father_. You’ll get better with him. Let Dean be good at the first couple years; you’re the one that’s going to help him with his homework.”  
  
“I helped Sammy with his,” Dean spoke up suddenly, lifting his head.  
  
Sam snorted and John laughed, shaking his head.  
  
“And what the hell are you two doing up at this time of day anyway?” Dean demanded. “God, it’s gotta be like-- eight. Eight o’clock people, I planned on sleeping in today, I don’t have to work.”  
  
“Sorry,” Sam muttered, pressing a kiss to Dean’s shoulder. “Go back to sleep, Dean,” he whispered, softly so that John wouldn’t hear, “and maybe I’ll do a little something special for you in the shower.”  
  
Dean grinned and gave Sam a quick kiss. He winked then settled back in. “Sounds good to me.”  
  
“I don’t even wanna know,” John muttered, rolling onto his back.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean hummed to himself as he quickly tied Sam’s sneakers, fixing the hem of Sam’s jeans. “There, perfect.” He pushed himself up and gave Sam a kiss, ruffling his hair, pushing his bangs down onto his forehead.   
  
Sam groaned and reached up to fix his hair.  
  
“You look sexier like that, you know,” Dean told him, glancing back as he walked to the dresser.  
  
“Well, sexy really isn’t a look I’m going for at McDonald’s with my family,” Sam remarked, but left his hair messed up anyway, “but thanks.”  
  
“No problem,” Dean murmured. “Wow. I just kind of realized how very little clothes we have these days.”  
  
“Well, we only have what we bought since the fire,” Sam pointed out, standing up, “and we haven’t exactly been on any major shopping sprees.”  
  
Dean sighed and pushed the drawer closed. “It sucks,” he muttered, leaning against the dresser. He looked out the small window to where John was getting the car seat set up in the Impala. “We really need another place to stay.”  
  
Sam walked over to the dresser, wrapping his arms around Dean from behind. “Why?” He gave Dean a kiss on his neck. “I kind of like it here.”  
  
Dean turned around in Sam’s arms, leaning back against the dresser. “It’s a motel, that’s why. The whole reason we got that apartment is so that we wouldn’t have to raise Dylan in a motel.”  
  
“We just have to save up for a bit,” Sam said quietly, “plan for a new place. We can’t just go find a new house, Dean, that takes money. Money we don’t really have right now.”  
  
“I could go play pool,” Dean said, looking up at Sam. “That’d at least pay for … a new crib for Dylan.”  
  
Sam sighed, glancing out the window. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he admitted, looking Dean in the eyes. “I don’t make the money, so you can spend it how you want.”  
  
“Sammy, I want you to tell me what to do!” Dean exclaimed. “Nobody’s telling me what to do and I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing. What do you want me to do?”  
  
“I want you to wait,” Sam answered. “I want you to save your money until we actually need it. We’re doing fine right now, right here, in this motel. Okay? I’m fine here and Dylan-- well he’s fine wherever we are, okay?”  
  
Dean nodded, leaning up to give Sam a kiss, wrapping his arms around him. “Is Dad ready yet?”  
  
Sam glanced out the window and nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Come on, let’s go.” He offered his hand to Dean and looked around the room, making sure John had taken Dylan’s diaper bag outside. “This Thanksgiving sure is a lot different than our last one.”  
  
Dean sighed and locked the door behind them, smiling up at Sam. “Yeah, we have Dylan now.”  
  
Sam smiled back. “Not really what I meant, but yeah, you’re right.” He smiled at John in the front seat and walked over to the Impala, opening up the passenger side door. He climbed in, glancing in the back to Dylan’s car seat. “He okay?” Sam asked, doing his seat belt.  
  
“Yup,” John answered, glancing back as Dean climbed in beside Dylan, smiling down at him.  
  
“Ready for your first Thanksgiving, Dylan?” Dean asked, reaching in to fix Dylan’s tiny jacket, sticking his tongue out. He did his seatbelt before reaching down again, tickling Dylan’s neck.  
  
Dylan shrieked and giggled, kicking his tiny feet.  
  
Dean grinned and rubbed Dylan’s stomach gently, calming him down. He leaned down and gave Dylan a kiss, shushing him.  
  
John glanced in the rear view mirror and pulled out of the parking lot, onto the road. “Okay, so McDonald’s, right?”  
  
Sam sighed and nodded, slouching in his seat. “Yeah. Great Thanksgiving, huh?”  
  
John sighed and reached over, patting Sam on the knee. “It’s going to be fine, Sammy, don’t worry about it.”  
  
Sam brought his thumb up to his mouth, nibbling on the end. “Yeah,” he breathed, looking into the back seat, half-smiling at Dean and Dylan.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean set the car seat down on the table and sat down, making room for John to set down their tray of food. Dean grabbed his soda and grabbed a straw, pushing the wrapper off. “What’d you get for Dylan?”  
  
Sam sat down in the booth beside Dean, shifting Dylan on his lap. “Yogurt.” Sam reached out and grabbed the parfait off the tray, taking off the top.  
  
Dean nodded and smiled up at John as he sat down. “Need some help feeding him?” Dean asked, glancing at Sam.  
  
Sam shrugged. “Probably,” he admitted. “You wanna take him?”  
  
Dean shook his head and took the parfait and spoon from in front of Sam. “You hold him, I’ll feed him.” He dipped the spoon into the yogurt, getting just a bit on, so Dylan could test it and see if he liked it. “Open up, Dylan,” Dean said, turning in his seat, leaning down a bit. “Open up for Daddy.”  
  
“Airplane noises,” John said, taking a bite of his burger.  
  
Dean and Sam both looked over at John.  
  
John shrugged and swallowed. “What? Worked for both of you. Wait, no, train noises was for Dean, Sam loved airplane noises.”  
  
Dean laughed and turned back to Dylan, clearing his throat. “Choo-choo, Dylan. The yogurt train is coming into the station. Chugga-chugga, chugga-chugga, choo-choo! Open up for the train!” Dylan’s mouth opened and Dean slipped the spoon into Dylan’s mouth, waiting a couple seconds before slipping it out. “There ya go, Dylan, how do you like that?” He reached out for a napkin and wiped off Dylan’s mouth. He sat up and grabbed a couple of his own fries, shoving them in his mouth. “Want some more, baby? Hmm?” He dipped the spoon in the yogurt again. “Open up, Dylan. Choo-choo train is coming.”  
  
Sam shifted his hands on Dylan and reached out, grabbing a fry. He took a bite and nearly choked when Dylan spit the yogurt back out, hitting Dean’s shirt. “Oh, that’s a classic,” he laughed loudly, shaking his head.  
  
John laughed into his soda, before taking a bite of his burger. “I’ll go get you a couple more napkins, Dean,” he said, sliding out of the booth. He walked over to the small counter and grabbed a couple napkins, deciding to grab a couple more when he heard Dean groan again.  
  
Dylan giggled and more yogurt dripped out of his mouth.  
  
“Dad, you might wanna hurry up with those napkins!” Sam called.   
  
“Please!” Dean pleaded loudly.   
  
“If you’re ‘dad’, you better get back there soon,” a voice said suddenly beside John.  
  
John turned and smiled politely at the woman. He lifted his hand, waving the napkins. “Yeah, I guess so.” He turned towards the booth. “Give me a second, boys!” he called. John turned back and set the napkins down, grabbing a couple packages of ketchup.  
  
“New parents?” the woman asked, taking some napkins of her own.  
  
“Well, they are,” John answered, looking around to see if there was anything else that he wanted. “Dylan’s seven months old.”  
  
“So which one is yours?” the woman asked, looking up at John.  
  
John was about to reply ‘both’, but he remembered that really didn’t go with the story they’d had for more than a year. “That would be the one covered in yogurt,” John answered finally, picking up his napkins.  
  
“I’m Gina,” she said, holding out her hand. “Gina O’Connor.”  
  
“Oh,” John said, setting his napkins back down. He took her hand, shaking it lightly. “John Winchester.”  
  
“Dad!” Dean called, pushing himself up in the booth to glare at John. “ _Please_!”  
  
“Just stop feeding him for a second!” John called back.   
  
Gina laughed, shaking her head. “So…I’d guess you’d better get back.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess,” John muttered, shaking his head. “So, maybe we’ll see you around sometime then.” He smiled and turned, before he felt Gina poke him lightly on the shoulder. “Yeah?” he asked, turning back around.  
  
Gina finished writing on the napkin and handed it over to John, blushing slightly.   
  
John glanced down at the napkin and smiled slightly. “O-- okay then,” he smiled.  
  
“I don’t mean to be so forward,” Gina said quickly, “but you-- I don’t see a wife and well, I haven’t actually dated in awhile, so--”  
  
“You must be pretty desperate to give _me_ your number,” John joked, glancing at Gina. “I mean, wow, that kind of came out wrong. I’m not calling you desperate.”  
  
Gina smiled, cocking her head to the side. “I like you, John Winchester. Well, I’d better get back to _my_ kids, so I hope to see you later.”  
  
John nodded. “Alright.” He smiled as Gina walked away, sitting back down with kids that seemed only a couple years younger than Sam. He walked back over to Sam and Dean, sliding back in across from them. “Here, more napkins,” he said, passing them over.  
  
“Thank you,” Dean muttered, wiping off his shirt then Dylan’s mouth. “Who was that woman?”  
  
“Her name’s Gina,” John answered, taking a bite of his burger.  
  
“What’d she want?” Dean demanded.  
  
“To give me this,” John said, showing them the napkin. He slid it across the table to Sam.   
  
“Her number?” Sam asked loudly. “Well well, Dad, you sly dog.” He laughed, showing the napkin to Dean. “He got her number.”  
  
“Great,” Dean said flatly, giving Dylan more yogurt. “You’re not actually going to call her, right?”  
  
John sighed, taking the napkin back. “No, probably not. But it’s nice, to know that women still find me--”  
  
“Yeah, we’re not having this conversation with you,” Sam interrupted, shaking his head.  
  
John raised his eyebrow. “After all the conversations I’ve had with you two, especially in the past year, I think this one’s pretty tame. As I was saying, it’s nice to know that women still find me attractive.”  
  
“You should ask her if she’s had her eyes checked recently,” Dean muttered, glancing across the table at John.  
  
Sam let go of Dylan with one hand to smack Dean on the arm. “Dean, that’s mean. What’s wrong with you?”  
  
“Dad can’t seriously be considering dating this woman,” Dean replied. “She could be a demon. A succubus.”  
  
“Oh Christ,” Sam muttered, shaking his head. “Dad, I think it’s nice and I think that if you want to go out with her, you should.”  
  
“How can she be trusted?” Dean asked, straightening up a bit. “We know nothing about her. And _really_ , who the hell goes to McDonald’s for Thanksgiving dinner?”  
  
Sam sighed, shaking his head again. “Uh, we do, Dean, that’s who.”  
  
“Exactly,” Dean said, leaning into Sam. “Why would anyone on Earth want to go out with people like us?”  
  
“People like _you_ ,” John began, meaning Dean, “I have no idea. People like Sam and I--”  
  
“Well, that one’s pretty obvious,” Sam finished, grinning.  
  
Dean sighed, sitting back. “Whatever.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean listened for a moment and made sure he could still hear the running water from John’s shower. He sighed and rolled over at bit, half laying on Sam’s chest. “Sammy?”  
  
Sam sighed and dropped his book, looking down at Dean. “Yeah, Dean?”  
  
“He’s not-- Dad’s not really going to go out with that woman, is he?” Dean asked, looking up at Sam, swallowing hard.  
  
“I don’t know,” Sam said softly, setting the book on the nightstand. “Why don’t you ask him, when he gets out of the shower?”  
  
Dean shook his head and pulled the blanket up a bit further, curling into Sam. “He’s supposed to be in love with Mom.”  
  
Sam sighed and reached up, running his fingertips through Dean’s cropped hair. “He _is_ in love with Mom. He’s not going to stop loving her just ‘cause some woman at a McDonald’s gave him her number.”  
  
Dean took a deep breath and pushed himself up, straddling Sam’s thighs, staring down at Sam. “You don’t remember her, Sam. She was our _mother_ , his _wife_.”  
  
“I know that, Dean,” Sam said softly, reaching up to run his fingers over Dean’s skin, trying to calm him down. “I know that. And he loves her. So do I and I don’t even remember her.”  
  
Dean gave an apologetic look, leaning down to give Sam a soft kiss, moving his lips from Sam’s to his jaw then his cheek. “If that woman thinks she can just come in and be our new mother, she’s got another thi--”  
  
“I don’t think that’s what she wants at all,” Sam murmured. “I think she’s just lonely, like Dad, and saw somebody she liked. I don’t think she’s got this diabolical plan to make Dad forget about Mom, or anything.”  
  
“She could,” Dean said pointedly, cocking his head to the side. “She could be a demon for all we know.”  
  
“Dean, think what you want,” Sam said, getting annoyed with Dean. “Okay? Think what you want about her, but I really don’t think Dad’s going to see her.”  
  
“But what if he does?” Dean asked, head down, watching his fingers trace Sam’s scar on his stomach.  
  
“Then he does,” Sam answered simply. “I won’t be happy about it, but I-- I can understand why.”  
  
“Jess, right,” Dean murmured, frowning. “Well, she was my mom and I miss her and I’m not going to let Dad go out with some woman he just met.”  
  
“What makes you think you can tell me what to do?” John asked suddenly, leaning against the doorframe.  
  
Dean and Sam both looked over to the bathroom, before looking back at each other. Sam moved to push Dean off him, but Dean stayed right where he was and stared defiantly at his father. “I’m your son.”  
  
“I know that,” John said, not moving. He stared right back at Dean, head cocked slightly to the side.   
  
“And I don’t think that you should go out with her,” Dean continued. “We don’t need her, we’re a family all on our own.”  
  
“Dean, contrary to what you obviously believe,” John began, walking into the room finally, going over to the dresser, “I’m not really a big fan of staying in this motel all day, taking care of you two and Dylan.”  
  
“You don’t take care of us, Dad,” Dean snapped, straightening up a bit.  
  
Sam groaned and laid down flat, not sure how he felt about Dean sitting on him while fighting with their father.  
  
“No?” John asked, turning around. “When Sam was in the hospital, you went to work. I took care of Dylan then, didn’t I?”  
  
“Yeah, but you don’t take care of _us_ ,” Dean said, gesturing to Sam and himself. “We’re adults. We hardly come to you for anything.”  
  
John snorted. “Yeah, right. Maybe you think that, Dean, but your brother doesn’t. He talks to me about things he can’t go to you about.”  
  
Dean looked back at Sam, confused. “Sammy? What’s he talking about? What can’t you talk to me about?”  
  
Sam sighed and shook his head. “Nothing, it’s nothing, Dean. I just-- I had questions about hunting and about … California.”  
  
“What about California?” Dean demanded, ignoring his father for the time being.  
  
“I don’t wanna live here anymore,” Sam answered finally, voice soft and scratchy.  
  
“What?” Dean asked, stunned. “And you didn’t that was important to share?” He climbed off Sam, standing up.   
  
Sam sat up, reaching out to Dean. “You’re happy here, Dean. You have a job! I know that you don’t wanna leave. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”  
  
“Oh Christ,” Dean muttered, rubbing at his eyes. “If you’re not happy, Sammy, you’re supposed to tell me. Let me know.”  
  
Dylan woke up from the other bed, letting out a tiny yawn, stretching in his tiny pyjamas.  
  
“Shit,” Dean muttered, shaking his head. He walked over to the other bed, sitting down gently, brushing Dylan’s hair back, leaning down to kiss him before lifting him up carefully, cradling him. “Are you okay, Dylan?” he asked gently, rubbing Dylan’s stomach softly. “Are you hungry?”   
  
Dylan sighed and squirmed in Dean’s arms, trying to get out of the position he was in.  
  
Dean shifted Dylan, holding him up to his chest; Dylan’s tiny hand grasped onto Dean’s shirt and he buried his face in Dean’s neck. “Just sleepy, huh? Sorry I woke you, baby. Shh.” He looked over at Sam, who was watching him. “It was your idea to live here, Sammy.”  
  
“I know,” Sam said quietly, “that’s why I didn’t tell you.”  
  
John pulled on his shirt and ran the towel through his hair. “And I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my place. I don’t live with you guys, it’s not my job to tell you where to live.” He walked back over to the bathroom, throwing the towel in on the floor.   
  
“Dad, let’s not turn this around, okay?” Dean snapped. “I am not letting you date that woman!”  
  
John groaned loudly, hitting his fist against the wall. “Dean, I am your father, okay? I tell _you_ what to do, not the other way around!”  
  
Sam jumped at John hitting the wall and glanced over at Dean, who flinched at his yelling. Dylan’s face crumpled and turned red as he began to scream and cry, feet kicking. Sam looked at Dean helplessly, swallowing hard.  
  
Dean took a deep breath and swallowed, praying that his voice didn’t break. “Dad, I’m not going to have you raise your voice around my son.” He glanced over at Sam, who was nodding shakily. He shushed Dylan, rubbing his back.   
  
John swallowed hard and rubbed at his face, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”  
  
“I think me and Dean should--” Sam swallowed hard, “should get a different room for the night.”  
  
John turned to Sam, eyes wide. “Sammy, I--”  
  
“Just for tonight,” Sam assured him, throwing the sheets off him. “Dean, I’m just-- I’ll go to the main desk.” He grabbed a shirt off the chair and awkwardly pulled it on, walking out of the room.  
  
“Dean, I didn’t mean to,” John said softly, after a few seconds had passed.   
  
Dean sighed and reached up, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Okay. But, I g-- if Sam wants another room…”  
  
John nodded slowly, dropping down onto the other bed. “Okay then.” He sighed, eyes down on the floor, shaking his head in disbelief.   
  
Sam came back into the room, lifting the key ring. “We’re just down a couple, Dad, room nineteen.”  
  
John nodded. “Yeah.”  
  
Dean stood up, grabbing Dylan diaper bag, shushing him again. “Okay, Dylan, just shh, it’s okay. Night, Dad,” Dean said quietly, glancing back at his father.  
  
John nodded, not glancing back at Dean.  
  
Dean followed Sam out of the motel room, walking quickly down to their new room. Sam opened up the door and stepped aside, letting Dean and Dylan in first. Sam closed the door behind them, locking it. “He okay?” Sam asked, playing with the fraying edge of his long-sleeved t-shirt.  
  
Dean nodded, sitting down slowly on the bed, setting Dylan’s bag down on the floor. “Yeah, he’s fine, just a little tired.” He gave Dylan a kiss, bouncing him up a bit. “Aren’t ya, baby? Yeah, ya are.”  
  
Sam sat down beside Dean, looking down at Dylan before looking back up at Dean, meeting his eyes. “Did we really just leave our father like that?”  
  
Dean nodded, giving Sam a soft kiss. “Yeah, we did.” He sighed and slouched down a bit, leaning his head on Sam’s shoulder, yawning. “I think we just need to get some sleep.”  
  
Sam nodded, but neither of them made a move.  
  
John paced around the small room, hand over his mouth, shaking his head. He took a deep breath and he stopped walking, reaching for his jacket. He began going through the pockets, finding what he was looking for. Next, he grabbed his cell phone and sat down on the bed. He slowly dialed, swallowing hard, unsure of what exactly he was doing. The phone rang a couple times, before it was picked up. “Hi, Gina? It’s me, John Winchester.”

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 20  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter  
**Summary:** When John's late with supper, Dean suspects something is going on  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

**seven months and nineteen days old**  
  
Dean sighed, spooning the strained peas into Dylan’s mouth, smacking his laps and grinning when Dylan made a face. “Mm-mm, Dylan, yum. Eat up.” He dipped the spoon into the small jar again and offered it up to Dylan. When Dylan jerked away from the spoon and made another face, Dean sighed. He brought the spoon up, smelling it suspiciously. Dean shrugged and darted his tongue out, tasting the strained peas. He groaned loudly and made a face, just like Dylan’s, spitting out the small amount of food. “Sam, what the _hell_ is our son eating?”  
  
“Strained peas,” Sam answered simply, looking over at Dean and Dylan.  
  
“Well, it’s disgusting,” Dean told him. “No wonder Dylan doesn’t like to eat it!”  
  
Sam sighed, reaching up to scratch as his head. “Okay, fine, so feed him something else. The pears, he likes the pears.”  
  
Dean frowned, studying Dylan. “Dylan, you’re just going to have to finish this for me, okay?” He ruffled Dylan’s hair, giving him a quick kiss. “Okay, open up, baby.” He fed Dylan a bit more, smiling down at him. “Good boy, Dylan.”  
  
Sam yawned suddenly, stretching his legs and arms out. “Okay, what the hell is taking Dad so long with supper? I’m hungry.”  
  
Dean shrugged, giving Dylan a bit more. “I don’t know. Call him up, ask what the hell’s going on.” He set the spoon down and grabbed the top for the small jar, screwing it on. “Dylan’s the only one who gets his food on time these days.” He lifted Dylan up, rubbing his back, feeling his son squirming in his arms.   
  
Dylan grunted and looked up at Dean, giggling when Dean smiled down at him.   
  
“Yes, you are, Dylan, you’re the only one who doesn’t go hungry.” He lifted Dylan up, rubbing noses with his son. “Sammy, put the book down.”  
  
“I’ve been trying to finish this for almost two weeks, Dean,” Sam said, looking over at them.   
  
Dean pouted and shifted Dylan in his arms, getting Dylan to look at Sam. “Sammy, put the book down,” Dean said again, batting his eyes.  
  
Sam sighed and set the book down on the table, standing up. He walked over to Dean on the floor and sat down beside him, long legs curling effortlessly underneath him. “Okay, lemme see him.” He slipped his left hand under Dylan’s bottom and kept his right on Dylan’s back, taking him from Dean. “Hey, baby. Hi, Dylan. How’s Mommy’s baby? How’s my baby?” He made a face at Dylan, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out. He laughed when Dylan shrieked, eyes opening wide. “Is that funny, Dylan? Are you laughing at me?” He made another face, shaking his head, hair flying.   
  
“Everybody laughs at you, Sammy,” Dean smiled, patting Sam on the back. “Young and old alike.”  
  
“Shut up, Dean,” Sam said, leaning back against the bed, groaning softly. “Okay, so Dad’s been gone for, at _least_ , an hour. Can’t we just go out, leave him a note or something?”  
  
“Are you really that hungry, Sammy?” Dean asked, leaning back beside Sam.  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” Sam whined, “I am. Please? I’m a growing boy, I need my food.”  
  
Dean grinned and leaned in, pressing his lips to Sam’s.  
  
Sam sighed and leaned into Dean, opening his mouth for Dean to slip his tongue in. He brought his knees up and let Dylan lean against them, keeping one hand on Dylan’s stomach and brought his other hand up to cup Dean’s cheek. He opened his eyes and looked down, making sure Dylan was okay and closed them again Sam saw that he was.  
  
“If you’re that hungry, we can go out,” Dean breathed when they pulled apart, foreheads together.   
  
“Thank you,” Sam smiled, giving Dean another kiss.  
  
They both turned and looked when they heard the door open, John smiling apologetically, showing them the fast food bag.   
  
“Of course, maybe we won’t have to,” Dean muttered, clearing his throat. “Sam’s starving to death over here, Dad, what the hell took you so long?”  
  
“Sorry,” John apologized, stepping into the room, closing the door behind him. “I just-- I got caught up, ran into an old friend.”  
  
Dean pushed himself up, going over to John. He took the bag from him, checking inside. “Oh yeah, who?”  
  
John swallowed, trying to smile. “Oh, um, Paul.”  
  
“Paul?” Sam repeated, gesturing over at Dean to grab Dylan’s rattle.  
  
Dean grabbed the rattle and walked back over to Sam, sitting back down. “Who’s Paul? Why have we never heard of him?”  
  
“Well, he’s a _really_ old friend,” John explained, sitting down at the table. “High school.”  
  
“Oh,” Dean and Sam said together, as Dean took their food out of the bag, setting it between them.   
  
“So, what exactly was he doing here?” Dean asked, glancing up at his father. “You and Mom went to high school in Kansas. He’s a bit away from home.” He held one of the burgers up Sam’s mouth, Sam’s good hand trying to keep Dylan on his lap.  
  
Sam took a bite and smiled at Dean, glancing over at John.   
  
“Just-- just visiting someone,” John answered.  
  
Dean and Sam both nodded and Dean grabbed a couple of fries. “So, high school, huh?” Dean asked, smiling at Dylan.  
  
John nodded. “Yup.”  
  
“Well, I for one wanna meet him,” Dean said, looking over at John again. “I mean, you never talk about high school. I wanna know what you were like.”  
  
“Well, I didn’t get his number or anything, Dean,” John said, “and he’s just visiting. I’m not going to bother him with you.”  
  
Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, slouching down a bit. “Were you really talking to some guy from high school?” he asked, not looking at John this time.  
  
Sam swallowed down a fry and looked over at John expectantly.  
  
“Why would I lie?” John asked, straightening up.  
  
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, looking up at Sam. “Because you were talking to someone you don’t want us to know about.”  
  
“Dean, leave it alone,” Sam muttered, leaning in to Dean. “If he says he was with ‘Paul’ then that’s who he was with, okay?”  
  
Dean frowned, but didn’t say anything else.   
  
Sam kissed Dean’s cheek quickly before turning back to John. “Next time, just call, okay?”  
  
John rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know when I turned into the child in this relationship,” he muttered.  
  
Sam glanced at Dean before frowning himself, looking down at Dylan. He sighed, nudging Dean to give a couple fries. “I was just hungry,” Sam said softly, taking a bite of fry. He blinked his eyes a couple times, half-smiling at Dean. He cleared his throat and glanced down at his hamburger, Dean getting the message.  
  
“Alrighty, Sammy,” Dean nodded, setting his own burger down. He picked up Sam’s and held it up to Sam’s mouth again, waiting for him to take a bite. “So Dad, when you leave, which I assume you are, what are you going to tell Gina?”  
  
Sam practically choked on his burger and he pounded his chest a couple times, not really sure who he should be looking at in disbelief. “Dean!” he exclaimed, coughing again.  
  
“Sam, are you okay?” John asked, turning in his chair. “Sam?”  
  
Sam nodded, waving his hand. “Fine,” he managed to get out, before he coughed again. He finally managed to swallow the food down, breathing heavily. “God, Dean, warn a guy.”  
  
“Well?” Dean asked, ignoring Sam’s comment.  
  
“I haven’t seen Gina since I met her, Dean,” John answered.   
  
“Well, that would be true, if you weren’t lying,” Dean said, pushing himself up.  
  
Sam watched Dean walk over to John, sitting down at the table with him. “Dean, I’m not really sure that--”  
  
“Sam, please,” Dean interrupted.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, shifting Dylan, holding him up against his chest. “Well, then,” he muttered.  
  
“Dad, there’s no Paul,” Dean continued on, ignoring Sam once again, “is there?”  
  
“Dean, what I do is none of your business,” John answered, practically glaring at Dean. “So it doesn’t really matter if there really is a Paul or not, because it’s not your business.”  
  
“Dad, what the hell happened to you?” Dean demanded, leaning a bit over the table.   
  
“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, Dean,” John snapped, leaning back in his chair.  
  
“With this Gina woman!” Dean exclaimed. “I mean, after twenty-four years of being alone, you just fuck the first thing to make eyes at you in a McDonald’s!”  
  
“I’m not going to have you talk about her like that, Dean!” John yelled, pushing himself up.  
  
Sam’s mouth opened wide and he and Dean both looked at each other. “So it’s true?” Sam asked, looking over at John.  
  
John turned around, hands shoved in his pockets. “Wha-- no! Dean, you can’t talk about _any_ woman like that!”  
  
“But especially not your girlfriend, right?” Dean snapped, hitting the table, tipping over a glass that Dean had left there earlier. “So what is it about her, Dad?” Dean asked, standing up. “Does she remind you of Mom, maybe?”  
  
“Dean, shut up,” John groaned, scratching his face.   
  
Sam laid Dylan down on the floor before pushing himself up, swallowing hard. “Dad, is Dean right?”  
  
“No!” John snapped, turning to Sam. “He’s paranoid! Dean, I ran into an old friend! I’m sorry it took so long!”  
  
“I can’t deal with this,” Sam muttered, shifting on his feet. He leant down and picked up Dylan, bouncing him up a bit. “I-- I said I don’t care and I don’t. Dean, it’s Dad’s business, either way. Dean, leave it alone.”  
  
“Sam, I want him to tell me the truth,” Dean practically whined, stomping his foot.   
  
“Maybe he _is_ telling the truth,” Sam insisted. “Dean, leave it alone. It’s not our business.”  
  
“He is still married to our mother!” Dean yelled, turning to John, “and he’s fucking some random wo--”   
  
John cut Dean off his fist, punching him in the jaw.  
  
Dean cried out and nearly fell backwards, stumbling on his feet. He cupped his cheek and glared at his father. “That’s it, you son of a bitch.”  
  
“Stop!” Sam cried, jumping in between them. “You won’t hit me and you can’t hit Dylan. _Stop_ , both of you.” He looked back and forth between John and Dean, pleading with his eyes. “It isn’t worth it. Dean, it’s not our business. Dad,” Sam just shook his head, not sure what to say. He took a deep breath, sighing. “I can’t deal with this.” He stepped out of the way, going into the bathroom, but not before laying Dylan down on the bed.   
  
Dean, still glaring at John, followed Sam into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him.   
  
“Dean, I don’t want anything to do with you right now,” Sam snapped, dropping down onto the floor. “Get out.”  
  
Dean sighed but didn’t leave; instead, he sat down a couple feet away from Sam. “He hit me,” Dean said finally, looking down at the floor.  
  
Sam snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “You deserved it, Dean.”  
  
“What?” Dean cried. “No, I didn’t! Our father just _hit_ me, Sam. I didn’t deserve it.”  
  
Sam rubbed at his eyes, banging his head against the wall behind him. “We are so goddamn dysfunctional,” he muttered, banging his head again. “I hate our life.”  
  
Dean pushed himself up and crawled over to Sam, burying his face in Sam’s neck. “We have Dylan though.”  
  
Sam jerked away from Dean. “We _never_ should’ve brought him into this family. We can’t even take care of ourselves.”  
  
“You really _are_ upset,” Dean observed, sitting back, studying Sam.  
  
“Yes, I really _am_ upset!” Sam yelled. “Our father just hit you, Dean! And apparently, either he’s sleeping with some woman or you’re crazy! There’s no upside to _anything_ about this situation.”  
  
“Well, we still have Dylan,” Dean reminded him, trying to smile, “he’s always our upside.”  
  
Sam smiled, leaning in to give Dean a kiss. “I think we need to get Dad to leave,” Sam said, pulling back.  
  
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. “Go on.”  
  
“And I think that we need to spend more time together,” Sam continued on, giving Dean another kiss, “and I think that-- I think that we need to get a new place to live. Being in a motel room for more than a month, with our father, no personal life, no sex life…I’m dying here, Dean.”  
  
Dean smiled and reached down, cupping Sam through his jeans.  
  
Sam groaned and his eyelids flickered a couple times but he reached down and smacked at Dean’s hand anyway. “Dean, not now. Just-- just go out there and tell our father we don’t want him here anymore.”  
  
“Sammy, the guy just _hit_ me and I still don’t have the heart to tell the man that,” Dean explained. “We just, we can make it, okay? Maybe we can dump him on that Gina chick. I’m sure some hunt will come in sometime and he’ll just have to leave. It happened all the time when we were kids.”  
  
“If I hadn’t--” Sam began, but Dean cut him off before he could get any further.  
  
“I’m not sure where _exactly_ you’re going with this, Sam, but I’m not listening to it,” Dean told him. “Whatever it is, it’s not your fault, as usual. We’ll just, I don’t know, we’ll call Bobby and tell him he needs to come up with a hunt to get him away from us.”  
  
Sam sighed, reaching up to push his hair back off his forehead, bringing his knees up to his chest. “How did you know that he was lying?”  
  
Dean shrugged, reaching up to scratch at his cheek. “Maybe I’m just that awesome.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Except you aren’t.”  
  
Dean sighed and pushed himself up onto his knees, grabbing something off the sink. He opened his hand, showing the small golden band to Sam. “He wasn’t wearing his wedding ring.” He looked up at Sam, just in time to see Sam’s eyes drop. “And I heard him on the phone before he left. He was talking to her.”  
  
“Oh,” was the only thing Sam managed to get out before he closed his eyes and brought his knees up further.  
  
Dean pushed himself up a bit and pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s head, ruffling his hair. “It’ll be okay, Sammy.” He wrapped his arms around Sam, sighing into Sam’s ear.  
  
“You’re going to have a bruise,” Sam said finally, wrapping an arm around Dean’s neck.  
  
Dean shrugged. “Are you okay?”  
  
“I know--” Sam took a deep breath, sending chills down Dean’s back when he breathed out, “I know that I said it didn’t matter to me, when I said I didn’t care. That it wasn’t my business.”  
  
Dean nodded, not saying anything.  
  
“But I _do_ care,” Sam finished. “I know why you were mad now. I can’t _believe_ he took off his wedding ring! He’s known this woman for a week. I don’t want him here anymore.”  
  
“Then go tell him that,” Dean said, pulling back.  
  
“I can’t, Dean!” Sam whined. “I can’t tell our father, Dylan’s grandfather, that I don’t want him here anymore.” He met Dean’s eyes. “Can’t you do it?”  
  
“I’m calling Bobby, or something,” Dean said, sitting back, reaching up to scratch at his head. “ _Somebody_ to get him out of here.” He pushed himself up then offered his hand to Sam, who just shook his head.  
  
“I’m staying in here,” Sam explained, settling back against the wall.  
  
“Okay,” Dean nodded, unlocking the bathroom door, walking out. He frowned. “Dad?”  
  
John looked up from his duffel bag, swallowing hard. “I was hoping you’d stay in the bathroom for a couple more minutes.”  
  
“You’re leaving?” Dean asked, just making sure.   
  
John straightened up. “Uh, yeah, I guess I am. I only came back ‘cause you needed me and you don’t need me anymore.”  
  
Dean sighed. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”  
  
“Call me, when you guys get an actual address,” John said, zipping up his bag. “I’ll-- I don’t know, I’ll send Dylan something for Christmas. Send _you_ something for your birthday.” He nodded towards the bathroom. “Sam okay in there?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah. He’s just…thinking, I guess. I can--”  
  
John shook his head, cutting Dean off. “I should-- it’ll probably be best if he doesn’t-- well, if we don’t say anything.” He smiled and reached out, patting Dean on the shoulder. “I didn’t-- I shouldn’t’ve hit you and I’m sorry.” He walked over to the bed and sat down, picking Dylan up. “I’ve gotta go again, ‘kay Dylan? And just like I told you the first time, it’s not because of you.”  
  
“Dad, I was wrong to try and tell you who you could and couldn’t go out with,” Dean said suddenly, sitting down at the table. “It was _wrong_. You are a grown man and it wasn’t my place. If you’re leaving because of me, or Sam, or that Gina woman, Dad, don’t. We do need you, even if we-- we don’t admit it all the time.”  
  
John smiled thankfully, nodding. “Thank you, Dean. But no, there’s a poltergeist in Florida, I’m going to go check it out.”  
  
“Do you need any help?” Dean asked.  
  
John smiled again. “No, Dean. I can do it. Thank you though.” He stood up and Dean did the same. “Take care, Dean. Of yourself, and your family.” He handed Dylan over to Dean, grabbing his bag.  
  
“You’re-- we’re going to see you again, right?” Dean asked, moving a bit out of John’s way.  
  
“Of course, Dean,” John assured him. “Anytime you wanna see me, you call me, and I’ll come. Or just to talk. Or just anything, you can call. Both of you, okay?”  
  
Dean nodded and he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling them start to fill with tears. “You’re going to miss Dylan growing up.”  
  
John sighed, reaching out to squeeze Dean’s shoulder. “He’s not my son, he’s yours. And I need to give you two a chance to raise him on your own.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Dad, I don’t wanna raise him on our own, I want you around.”  
  
John sighed again. “Dean, I’ve gotta go, okay? Before this poltergeist hurts somebody.” He leaned in, giving Dean a quick hug. He leaned down and gave Dylan a quick kiss, smiling. “Bye-bye, Dylan. Bye-bye. Be good for Mommy and Daddy, okay? Okay.” He gave him another kiss and straightened up. He turned to the bathroom. “Bye, Sam!” he called, clearing his throat. “Anytime, Dean, just pick up the phone.” He smiled as he walked by Dean, pushing open the door.  
  
Sam opened up the bathroom door, walking out. “What’d he mean, ‘bye’?”  
  
“He’s leaving,” Dean said flatly, glancing at Sam.  
  
Sam practically gasped and pushed open the door, just as John turned on the engine. He waved furiously, smiling sadly when John waved back. “Bye, Dad!” Sam called, eyes filling with tears.  
  
John smiled and felt his own tears welling as he pulled out of the parking lot, glancing back to wave one last time.  
  
Sam sighed and stepped back in the motel room, closing the door behind him. “What’d he say?”  
  
Dean sighed, shifting Dylan on his hip. “To call anytime. And that Dylan’s our son, not his, and we need a chance to raise him on our own.”  
  
Sam’s tears spilled over and he sat down on the bed, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “He was going to leave, without saying goodbye to me,” Sam said, clearing his throat.  
  
Dean sat down beside Sam, reaching down to stop Dylan’s foot from digging into his thigh. He pressed a kiss to the side of Sam’s head. “He thought it was for the best.”  
  
Sam turned to Dean, eyes brimming with tears. “It’s never for the best. And believe me, I know.”  
  
Dean nodded, wrapping an arm around Sam’s shoulder, resting his head against Sam’s. “I know.”  
 


	21. Chapter 21

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 21  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** NC-17 this chapter  
**Summary:** While talking about Sam's Christmas present, they realize how long it's been since they've done certain things; Sam and Dean spend some time with Paula and Michael.  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.   
  
  
Thanks to [ ](http://teamane.livejournal.com/profile)[**teamane**](http://teamane.livejournal.com/) for making the header I use at the beginning of the chapter.

 

**_eight months old_**  
  
“If I got you something _really_ big for Christmas, would I have to get you anything else?” Dean asked, rolling onto his stomach.   
  
Sam shrugged, looking down at Dean. He rubbed Dylan’s back, holding him to his chest. “I don’t know. How big is big?”  
  
“ _Big_ ,” Dean said solemnly, nodding. “Big.”  
  
“Big big?” Sam repeated. “Hmm, that’s pretty big. How expensive is it?” He giggled when Dylan pushed himself up on all fours on his chest and he made a face. “You’re getting better at that Dylan. Soon you’re going to be crawling. Dean, he’s going to be crawling soon.”  
  
Dean smiled, reaching up to tickle Dylan’s neck, sending his son into a fit of giggles. “And what do you mean, how expensive is it? Come on, Sammy.”  
  
“So, is it a house or an apartment?” Sam asked, glancing at Dean.   
  
“And who says it’s either?” Dean asked.  
  
“ _I_ said it’s either,” Sam answered, sitting up a bit, holding Dylan up to his chest. “Dean, I don’t care which it is, I’d just like to know. At least tell me where it is. Where are we going to live?”  
  
Dean groaned and grabbed his pillow, pulling it over his head. “Stop ruining your present!” Dean yelled, mostly muffled by the pillow and the mattress.  
  
Sam laughed and shook his head. “Dean, we’ve been living in this motel room since I was in the hospital. We damn well better be moving out of here, or I am going to go crazy. Literally. One room?” He reached down and smacked Dean’s leg. “Get me out of here!”  
  
Dean groaned again and lifted the pillow, staring at Sam. “It’s in Fullerton.”  
  
Sam grinned. “Thank you, Dean.”  
  
Dean sighed and sat up, leaning against Sam. “I was talking to Paula; after I apologized for burning down our apartment, I asked her if she had heard of any places around here. She had.”  
  
Even though Dean didn’t think it was possible, Sam’s grin grew even larger. He leaned down, giving Dean a quick kiss. “Thank you, Dean,” he repeated, kissing him again. “So when are we--”  
  
“Our first night will be on Christmas Eve,” Dean interrupted. “I’ll be moving our stuff, and by stuff, I mean the stuff I will by buying me and Dylan for Christmas, in the days before. We get the stuff, you get the-- place where we’ll be living.”  
  
“Is it an apartment or a house?” Sam asked.  
  
“Sammy, I can’t reveal all my secrets,” Dean smiled. “Just know that apparently, Bob has every intention of throwing us a house-warming party and Paula wants to spend more time with us. Well, mainly Dylan.”  
  
“Why?” Sam asked, lightly slapping Dylan’s fingers to get them out of his hair.  
  
Dean smiled again. “She’s pregnant,” he answered. “Couple months along. She wants to know what it’s going to be like, being a mom.”  
  
Sam’s eyes opened wide. “She’s pregnant? Holy-- wow. Michael sure got to work.” He sighed, thinking for a moment. “I remember when I was a couple months along. All the morning sickness, mood swings, cravings…she must be going crazy.”  
  
“Michael too,” Dean muttered. “I mean, I wouldn’t admit it then, but you being pregnant wasn’t my favourite time ever. I’m not going through it again.”  
  
Sam pulled back from Dean, a serious look on his face. “Then I guess you’re not going to like what I have to say next.” He cleared his throat and straightened up a bit. He took a deep breath, tongue coming out to wet his lips. “Dean, I’m pregnant.”  
  
Dean’s jaw dropped. “Are you freaking _kidding_ me?”  
  
Sam managed to keep a straight face for only a couple more seconds before bursting out into laughter. “Yes, I’m kidding you. God, Dean, we haven’t had sex in like four months; I think I’d have a baby bump by now.”  
  
“Four months?” Dean repeated. “Has it really been that long?” He shook his head. “Christ,” he muttered, glancing down at Dylan. “Dylan, you’re ruining my sex life.” He lifted Dylan up, kissing him on his cheek. “I love you anyway though, baby.”  
  
“Well, since like, _actual_ sex,” Sam explained. “Hand jobs in the shower don’t really count. Well, not towards getting pregnant.” He sighed, bringing his knees up to his chest. “God, we are so sad. Four months since we’ve had sex.” He set his head on his knees, looking to the side at Dean and Dylan.   
  
“I mean, we haven’t exploded or anything yet, so it can’t be that bad.” Dean thought for a moment. “Now that I think about it, I am pretty horny.”  
  
Sam tried to stifle his laugh, but failed miserably. “Dean, I-- I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry that I don’t put out more?” He laughed again, shaking his head. “God, Dean, this is bad. Not only are we horny, we’re going crazy.”  
  
“Well, we could have sex,” Dean suggested innocently, looking over at Sam. “Then we’d only be crazy.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, smacking Dean’s arm. “Let’s wait. Till we’re in the new house.” He studied Dean’s reaction. “New apartment?” He sighed. “Dean, just tell me.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “No. Now leave me alone, or we stay in this motel room forever.”  
  
Sam smiled. “Okay, okay, fine. But you have to tell me: what do you want for Christmas?”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Where do _you_ get money? Tell me, I have to know.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. I have a couple credit cards left over, okay? And Dad used to give me a couple bucks, whenever he could.”  
  
Dean laughed loudly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Dad had you on an _allowance_?” He kept on laughing and eventually, Dylan shrieked in his arms and giggled along with him. “Oh god, Sammy, that’s hilarious.”  
  
“Shut up,” Sam grumbled. “It wasn’t an _allowance_ , it was-- okay, it was _like_ an allowance, but it wasn’t. Not really.”  
  
Dean laughed even louder, turning red in the face. “It was _so_ an allowance, Sammy. God. You have a kid. You’re twenty-four and you have a kid and Dad still had you on an allowance.”  
  
“Fine,” Sam snapped angrily, “you’re not getting anything for Christmas.” He huffed and pushed himself up off the bed, going into the bathroom.  
  
Dean took a deep breath and stopped laughing for just a second and smiled down at Dylan, sticking his tongue out at him. “Mommy was on an allowance,” Dean whispered, before he began laughing again.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam stopped pushing the stroller for a second and reached up to scratch at his arm. “So can _you_ tell me if it’s an apartment or a house?”  
  
Paula looked at Sam from over her sunglasses. “Dean gave me specific instructions not to answer that question.”  
  
Sam sighed and continued on, pushing the stroller. “Have you seen it then?”  
  
Paula nodded. “I have. And yes, it’s very pretty.”  
  
“I’ve never been to Fullerton before,” Sam remarked, groaning when Dylan threw his rattle onto the ground. He stopped pushing the stroller again and knelt down, picking it up. “You’ll get it back in a couple minutes, Dylan. Is it nice?”  
  
“Trust me, Sam, I wouldn’t let Dean move you to a hellhole,” Paula answered, smiling down at Dylan.   
  
Dylan tried to reach out of the stroller, but thankfully, his buckle kept him in. He began to kick his feet before finally shrieking and screeching.  
  
“A couple minutes, Dylan,” Sam said sternly but leaned into the stroller, trying to shush Dylan and calm him down. “You can’t have your rattle if you’re going to keep throwing it out. Okay? Now shh, please. For Mommy?”  
  
Dylan calmed down a bit but kept whimpering, reaching out to Sam.   
  
“It’s okay, Dylan, just a couple minutes, okay?” Sam asked, reaching in to tickle Dylan’s neck. “Yes, you can wait that long. Shh.” He straightened up and stepped behind the stroller and continued along. “So, it’s not a hellhole. That’s good, that’s a plus.”  
  
Paula bit the inside of her lip, unsure of what to say. Finally, she spoke. “So this whole, him throwing his rattle, do all babies do that?”  
  
Sam laughed softly. “Paula, kids are great. Well, at least mine is. You can handle him throwing his rattle. Or her rattle, I guess. You’re gonna be a great mom. How’s Michael doing?”  
  
Paula sighed, shaking her head. “Probably as well as any other man, I’m sure.”  
  
Sam laughed again. “Yeah, probably.”  
  
“You should thank your lucky stars _you_ weren’t pregnant, Sam,” Paula said, glancing at him.   
  
Sam’s eyes opened wide and he swallowed hard before smiling weakly. “Wh-- why is that?”  
  
“It’s hard,” Paula answered, almost whining. “Morning sickness, mood swings. I’m driving Michael crazy, I can only imagine how Dean would handle it.”  
  
“Oh, pretty well,” Sam answered quickly. “I mean, I imagine. Dean’s pretty grounded.”  
  
Paula smiled. “Well, I still can’t believe he and Michael decided to stay back at the house than come out for a walk. It’s nice out. Cool. Nice break from the heat.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Dylan doesn’t like the heat. Makes him fussy.” He stopped the stroller and stepped in front, crouching. “Want your rattle back, Dylan?” He pulled it out of his pocket, shaking it at Dylan. “Want it back, baby? You have to say ‘please’. Okay, Dylan, here ya go.” He handed the rattle to Dylan and smiled, leaning in to give him a kiss. “Okay, Dylan, let’s keep going. Dean and Michael are doing some male bonding, I guess.”  
  
Paula laughed loudly, almost causing Sam to jump. “Does that mean that we’re doing some _female_ bonding?”  
  
Sam’s mouth opened a bit and he couldn’t defend himself fast enough.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
“Too bad one of you guys wasn’t actually pregnant,” Michael laughed, taking a drink of his beer.  
  
Dean swallowed down his own beer and chuckled weakly, smiling. “Uh, yeah, too bad. May I ask, uh, why?” He dropped his eyes, looking down at his feet beneath the surface of the pool water.  
  
“Well then I could ask you watch to expect,” Michael explained, taking another drink. “In the,” he looked around jokingly, “sexual department, I mean.”  
  
Dean nearly spit his beer out but managed to keep himself under control. He smiled and wiped at his lip, swinging his feet in the pool. “Oh. Well, uh, yeah, that’d be pretty helpful. Impossible though.”  
  
Michael nodded. “So but uh, well what’s the sex life like _after_ the baby?” he asked.  
  
“We haven’t had sex in four months,” Dean blurted out, before he realized that probably wasn’t something he should’ve shared.   
  
Michael’s eyes opened wide and he looked at Dean in disbelief, studying him closely. “Are you-- are you serious? Four months? God, how do you _survive_?”  
  
Dean shrugged, making a small sound. “I really don’t know. I just try to block it out, most of the time. Well, a lot of the time, obviously. But I mean, just because _we_ have no sex life doesn’t mean you and Paula won’t.”  
  
“Yes, it does,” Michael muttered, taking a longer drink this time. “You guys are both men! If two men can go four months without sex, how long do you think a woman could hold out?”  
  
“Pretty long, if you keep talking about me behind my back,” Paula interrupted, walking out by the pool.  
  
“Honey!” Michael said cheerfully, smiling up at her. “When did you and Sam get back?”   
  
Paula smiled and rolled her eyes. “Just now. And honey, their sex life isn’t any of your business, okay?”  
  
Dean leaned back and smiled at Sam, who was leaning against the doorframe, Dylan sitting on his hip. “Hi, Sammy!” he called, waving.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and gave a half-smile, but didn’t move.  
  
Paula glanced back at Sam then down at Dean. “Michael, come inside, let’s let Dean and Sam have some alone time.” She offered her hand to her husband.  
  
Michael pushed himself up, wrapping an arm around Paula’s shoulders. “Babe, did you know they haven’t had sex in _four_ months?” He nodded politely at Sam as they walked up the door.  
  
“Sam, let us take Dylan for you,” Paula said, quickly glaring at Michael.  
  
“Uh, um, okay,” Sam stuttered out, carefully handing Dylan off. “Be good, Dylan, okay? Be good.” He smiled at Paula and Michael and walked by them, going over to Dean.  
  
Dean laughed weakly, smiling. “So uh, yeah, he-- he asked, Sam. I couldn’t lie.”  
  
Sam grumbled and sat down beside Dean, legs crossed. “Yes, you could,” he muttered, reaching down to dip his fingers in the water. “Dean, it’s embarrassing.”  
  
“It’s not!” Dean protested. “I’m not embarrassed; hell, I’m the one who told him. Why is it embarrassing?”  
  
“Because-- because four months is a long time, Dean,” Sam answered, even though it wasn’t much of an explanation. “And, I don’t want them to know all of our business. It makes me feel-- inadequate or something. If you wanna have sex, come on, let’s do it, right here.” He moved to unbutton his shirt but Dean just slapped away his fingers.  
  
“Sammy, I’m sorry,” Dean apologized. “I didn’t even really mean to say it.” He thought for a moment and laughed quietly to himself.  
  
“What now?” Sam snapped.  
  
“I was just remembering something,” Dean answered. “It was before we were in California, we had just left Bobby’s. We were driving along and I jerked you off then you blew me.”  
  
Sam blushed, but had to smile. “Yeah? Your point?”  
  
“Well, your big selling argument of the sex in the car was, ‘Dean, we haven’t had sex in a week’. A _week_!” Dean began to laugh again. “And we’ve made it four months.” He bumped shoulders with Sam playfully. “We can make it another week, okay? Just a week.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Okay.”  
  
Dean leaned in, pressing his lips to Sam’s temple, before leaning against him. “It’s going to be okay. It’ll be nice, first night in our place.”  
  
Sam smiled at the thought and nodded. “That will be nice.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, it will. Now come on, strip; we’re going swimming.” He pushed himself up and pulled off his t-shirt before Sam could even speak.  
  
“Dean, did you ask?” Sam asked him, looking up at Dean in disbelief. “Dean, this isn’t our pool.”  
  
Dean shrugged and pushed down his jeans, leaving him in his boxers. “Come on, Sam, if they didn’t want us to swim they wouldn’t have left us out here. Duh.” He smiled and dove into the pool, swimming gracefully a few feet away from Sam to the other side of the pool.  
  
Sam grumbled and pushed himself up, unbuttoning his shirt. “You’re going to have to help me button this again, you know!” he called, before kicking off his sneakers.  
  
Dean smiled, leaning against the pool wall, watching Sam undress. “Take your time, Sammy,” Dean said.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and pushed his jeans down, glancing back at the house, checking to see if Michael or Paula was watching. “Dean, they might get mad,” he said, but sat down on the edge anyway, getting his legs in first.  
  
Dean laughed and pushed off the wall, swimming back over to Sam. He reached up, setting his hands on Sam’s hips. “If you don’t get in yourself, I’ll pull you in.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and made no move to get into the pool.  
  
Dean sighed before jerking his arms, pulling Sam into the water with him. He laughed when Sam shrieked and kicked at him, getting out of the way for his punch. “Calm down, Sam, it’s just water!”  
  
“It’s cold!” Sam yelled, batting Dean away. “Christ Dean, it’s cold.”  
  
Dean laughed some more but wrapped his arms around Sam, rubbing Sam’s arms. “That better?” he murmured, nuzzling Sam’s shoulder.  
  
Sam sighed, kicking his legs to tread water. “Well, I can barely feel my left arm and all you’re doing to the right is making it hurt.”  
  
Dean glanced down at Sam’s left arm, the scars from the skin grafts very noticeable. “Sorry.” He stopped rubbing Sam’s arms and let go of him, treading water behind him. “I didn’t mean to.”  
  
“Dean, it’s fine,” Sam assured him, swimming the couple feet over to him. “Now come on, you got me in here, what are you going to do with me?”  
  
Dean grinned and winked before pushing himself up, grabbing onto Sam’s shoulders, pushing him under the water. He kept him down for a few seconds, laughing loudly before letting him up, laughing even more when Sam surfaced, hair in his eyes.   
  
Sam splashed water in Dean’s face before pushing him down, laughing right back at him.  
  
“That’s it, Sammy!” Dean yelled playfully. “You’re going down!” He jumped on Sam, knocking him under.  
  
Michael glanced at Paula. “They haven’t had sex in four months, Paula.”  
  
Paula rolled his eyes, bouncing Dylan up on her hip. “Michael, stop watching them. It’s weird. And stop sticking your nose in their business.”  
  
“They’re shirtless,” Michael said, looking at her again.  
  
Paula perked right up and walked over to window, standing beside Michael. “Four months. God. If I looked like one of them I’d kill myself.” She sighed. “Just gorgeous.”  
  
Michael’s eyes narrowed and he turned slowly to look at her. “Pervert.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam laughed as he pushed the door open, his boxers soaking through his jeans, his shirt still unbuttoned. “I hate you, Dean. Making me get soaked.”  
  
Dean slapped Sam on the ass, grinning when Sam turned around. He set Dylan’s carrier down and closed the door behind him. “Oh shut up, you love it.” He walked into the bathroom and grabbed a couple towels, tossing one over to Sam. Dean pulled off his wet t-shirt, tossing it into the bathroom. “I will admit though, you were right; it is pretty cold.” He rubbed the towel over his chest and arms before dropping it to the floor, undoing his jeans.  
  
Sam gave a small bow, smirking. “Told ya.” He shrugged off his shirt, smiling down at Dylan. “Hey, Dylan, how you feeling, Pickle?” He crouched down, giving Dylan a kiss. “We couldn’t take you in the pool today Dyl, it’s too cold for a little baby like you.”  
  
Dean walked over to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer. He grabbed a clean, dry pair of boxers and bumped the drawer closed with his hip, pushing down his soaking wet boxers.  
  
Sam sat down on the bed, watching Dean dry off his legs and hips, before moving the towel to his backside. Sam groaned softly, leaning back on his elbows.  
  
Dean turned around, smiling at Sam. “See something you like?” he teased, walking over to Sam.  
  
Sam nodded eagerly, licking his lips. “Four months, Dean,” he said quietly, looking up at Dean’s eyes before glancing down at Dean’s dick. “I can’t wait another week. Just-- just give me something.”  
  
Dean straddled Sam’s hips, pushing him back onto the bed before leaning down, pulling Sam in for a kiss. He slipped his tongue into Sam’s mouth before pulling slightly back, still teasing Sam’s tongue with his. “Fuck, Sammy, I thought we were gonna wait. Dylan’s right there.”  
  
“He’s sleeping,” Sam murmured against Dean’s skin, licking up all traces of the pool water still on his neck. “Forget about him for a sec.” He reached down and grasped Dean in his hand, jerking him once, smiling against Dean’s pec.  
  
Dean hissed, glancing between them. “Kinda burns,” he muttered, swatting Sam’s hand away. “I love you, Sammy,” he breathed before pulling Sam in for another kiss.  
  
“Love you too,” Sam replied, pulling back to look Dean in the eyes. “Fuck, I love you.”  
  
Dean nodded, dropping his head to Sam’s chest, licking around his nipple before sucking it into his mouth.  
  
Sam cried out and arched his back, digging his fingers into Dean’s back, thrusting his hips up. “God, Dean, do that again.”  
  
Dean laughed softly and latched his mouth back on, reaching down to rub Sam through his jeans, feeling him harden and press against the zipper. “Think you could come from this?” he asked, looking up at Sam, nipping at his skin.  
  
Sam whimpered and nodded furiously, pushing his hips up into Dean’s hand. “It’s been so long, won’t take much.” He cried out again and planted his feet on the floor, toes curling and digging into the carpet.   
  
Dean kept rubbing Sam through his jeans, alternating nipples, sucking and biting at the skin. “Fuck, come on, Sammy, you gotta come.” He slithered down Sam’s body, dropping to his knees on the floor, between Sam’s legs. He reached up and quickly undid Sam’s jeans, reaching into his boxers to pull him out.   
  
“God, Dean,” Sam whimpered and reached down, guiding Dean’s head.  
  
Dean let Sam push him into his dick, opening his mouth to let the head slip in past his lips, teasing it with his tongue. He moved his mouth down, swallowing and moaning, sending the vibrations from his mouth to Sam’s cock all the way up his spine.  
  
Sam pushed Dean further down, crying out, gasping for breath.  
  
Dean gagged slightly but didn’t pull up, just reached down and grasped himself, jerking himself quickly. It wasn’t long before he was at the edge with Sam, thighs trembling, eyes squeezed shut. He thumbed the head of his cock and pressed the spot right under the crown before he cried out, sound muffled by Sam in his mouth and he came, jerking his hips into his hand.  
  
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and pumped his hips again, jerking and coming in Dean’s mouth, arching off the bed.  
  
Dean took a second to recover and a bit of come dribbled out of his mouth before he swallowed a couple times and pulled off, wiping at his mouth. He leaned his head against Sam’s knee, both breathing heavily. He sat down weakly, tired. “God, Sam, what brought that on?”  
  
Sam gasped a couple times, still trying to catch his breath. “I think you did it on purpose. Christ. Getting naked right in front of me. God.”  
  
Dean grinned and laughed. “Okay, maybe. But still, we were going to wait.”  
  
“Well, we’ll just wait to have _actual_ sex in the new place,” Sam suggested. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun till then.”  
  
Dean pushed himself up and smiled down at Sam, climbing back on him.  
 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 22  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** NC-17 this chapter  
**Summary:** Sam and Dean go shopping, and Sam tries to convince Dean to let him see the new place  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

**eight months and ten days old**  
  
Sam frowned, looking up from the floor to Dean on the bed. “Do you think there’s something wrong him?” he asked, pushing himself up onto his knees.  
  
“Who?” Dean asked, shifting against the headboard, uncrossing his ankles.  
  
Sam cocked his head to the side, looking at Dean in disbelief. “Um, our son. Duh. He isn’t crawling yet. Some babies can crawl when they’re like, six months old. Some babies can _walk_ by now! Maybe he’s like, I don’t know, special or something. What if there’s something wrong with him?”  
  
Dean sighed, swinging his legs off the bed, leaning down. “Sam, he’s fine. Okay? Please, please, _please_ don’t make give the whole, ‘everyone matures at their own rate’ speech again. It was bad enough when you were fourteen.”  
  
Sam frowned again, sitting back down, watching Dylan. “He can push himself up, sometimes. He just can’t-- well, do anything with it.”  
  
“Well, it’s partly our fault, you know,” Dean said, looking at Sam. “I mean, we carry him everywhere. He doesn’t know he’s supposed to walk on his own, we walk him everywhere. He has to be able to sit up on his own first and I can count on my hands the number of times we’ve laid him down on the floor and just let him…be.”  
  
“Well, he needs us,” Sam whined, leaning back against the bed. “He needs to be held. He needs to know we love him.”  
  
Dean laughed. “No, you’re a cuddler. He’s like a toy to you or something. Like that teddy bear you had when you were seven.”  
  
“Did you just compare our son to a ratty, old, stuffed piece of cotton that was missing a button eye?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, pretty much.”  
  
“Well, it’s your fault too,” Sam pointed out, “you just said it yourself. If he’s not in the carrier or with me, he’s on your hip. And now because of us, our son is just going to lay there for the rest of his life.” He smiled at Dylan, tickling his stomach. “Come on, Dylan, for Mommy. I know you can get up, I just want you to move.” He leaned down and smiled at Dylan, giving him an Eskimo kiss. He slid his left hand under Dylan’s bottom and lifted him up, right hand on Dylan’s back.  
  
“Sammy, put him down,” Dean commanded, reaching out to take Dylan from him. “You’re just making it worse.”  
  
“Dean, I’m not going to stop holding my son!” Sam protested. “He’s just a baby and I have every intention of holding him until he’s too damn big.” He rocked Dylan a bit, smiling at him. “Hi, baby boy, hi. How are you today baby?”  
  
Dean sighed and rubbed at his eyes, glancing at Sam’s watch. “What do you say to a little shopping trip, Dylan?”  
  
Sam looked up at Dean, confused. “You’re going shopping? When? For what?”  
  
Dean stood up, looking around the room for his keys. “Uh, in like, the amount of time it takes to get Dylan dressed and in the car. And Christmas is in,” he thought for a moment, “three days, Sammy. We’re moving in two. Or did you forget?”  
  
“Well, no, not really,” Sam answered, only half-lying. “Okay, kind of. I don’t know, I don’t really think about it. You won’t let me think about it. I can’t go shopping with you, I can’t help you put the new place together; I can’t even see it!”  
  
Dean smiled, leaning down to give Sam a kiss. “That’s because it’s your Christmas present, Sammy. All of it. I can’t let you see it, I don’t want to ruin the surprise. I just hope that you’ll like it, when you do see it.”  
  
Sam sighed, exasperated, and shook his head. “I’m sure I will, but I mean, I would like to have some say in it, is all.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Sam, when we move in, the only thing that’s gonna be done completely is Dylan’s nursery. If you wanna like, pick paint for the rest of it or something, go ahead, knock yourself out.”  
  
“Orange,” Sam said quickly, looking Dean in the eyes.  
  
Dean’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Yeah, for like, the bathroom or something. That shit ain’t going in my living room.” He lifted Dylan out of Sam’s hands, bouncing him up on his hip. “No, Dylan, that shit ain’t going in our living room.”  
  
“Do you have to swear around him?” Sam asked, pushing himself up. “He’s going to have a first word in a couple months, Dean; I’d like it to be one he can say in public. Now let me go shopping with you, please?”  
  
“Sammy, everything I’m buying is going to the new place,” Dean explained. “Like, right after I get it. I can’t let you see the place.”  
  
“Drop me off back here,” Sam whined, wrapping an arm around Dean’s neck, pulling him in. “Dean, I wanna go. I wanna spend time with my family.” He pulled back. “Please?”  
  
Dean studied Sam, trying to determine how serious he was. “Fine,” he gave in finally, half-smiling. “You can come. But you can’t see our new place! I’m not going to take you, so don’t even bother with your puppy eyes, or your promise of sex, or your-- your puppy eyes while promising me sex. It’s not going to work.”  
  
Sam laughed and nodded. “Fine, I swear. But it would be really, _really_ go--”  
  
“Stop right there,” Dean snapped, cocking his head at Sam. “You swore. Now come on. Get your jacket or whatever and I’ll tie your sneakers in a sec.” He grabbed Dylan’s carrier and lifted it up onto the table, laying Dylan down in it gently. He buckled Dylan in and turned around, quickly kneeling in front Sam. “We can go out for supper afterwards, I’m hungry.”  
  
Sam nodded, smiling thankfully when Dean finished tying his laces and stood up. He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on, fixing the collar and his hair at the back. “Okay, I’m ready.”  
  
“Take him out to the car?” Dean asked, still looking for his keys.  
  
“Yup,” Sam nodded. He leaned in, giving Dean a quick kiss. “I think I saw the keys in the bathroom.” He shrugged and walked over to the door, pushing it open before grabbing Dylan’s carrier. “Don’t be too long.” He walked out of the room, letting the door bang closed behind him.  
  
“The bathroom?” Dean repeated. “Why the hell…” He walked over to the bathroom and flicked on the lights. Sure enough, his keys were sitting on the sink, right by the soap. He grabbed them and twirled them around his finger, humming to himself. He grabbed his wallet and shoved it in his pocket, pushing open the door. “Got him in there okay?”  
  
Sam nodded and closed the backdoor, opening up the passenger side. He slid into his seat and closed the door, smiling at Dean when he climbed in beside him. “I can’t believe it’s almost Christmas. It’s freakin’ insane.”  
  
Dean made a quiet noise of agreement, pulling out of the parking lot. “Just a couple more days. I have the feeling it’s gonna be a lot better than last year’s Christmas.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam agreed quietly. “I mean, on the whole, last year’s Christmas wasn’t _that_ bad; we were all together. It’s just the whole--”  
  
“Beating thing that got in the way,” Dean interrupted, looking at Sam. “I mean come on, Sam, last Christmas pretty much sucked. I was in the hospital, we had shitty presents and the next day the doctors told you you’d never--” he cut himself off and swallowed hard, reaching over to rub Sam’s leg comfortingly. “That you’d never--” He shook his head and just stopped trying. “I’m sorry, Sam.”  
  
Sam sighed and shook his head. “It’s fine, Dean. And it’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be. I mean, I can hold Dylan and well, while I admit that I still can’t tie my shoes, I’ve learned to do some stuff with my left hand.”  
  
“That you have,” Dean agreed, nodding, “and I’m really proud of you for it, Sam. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”  
  
Sam laughed and rolled his eyes. “God, Dean. Gee, thanks.”  
  
“I mean it, Sam!” Dean said, smiling at his brother. “I really do. I wasn’t-- I don’t know, I thought it was going to be bad and you made it good.” He leaned over to give Sam a kiss but he just pushed Dean away.  
  
“Um, eyes on the road?” Sam reminded him, looking out onto the road.  
  
“Sorry,” Dean said, sitting back in his seat. He adjusted the rear view mirror, looking at Dylan. “How you doing, Dyl? You okay back there?”  
  
Sam glanced in the back then back up to the front. “I don’t think he’s going to answer you, Dean,” he smiled.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “He might. He’s eight months old, first word could be coming anytime now.”  
  
“How often do people talk before they crawl?” Sam asked, nibbling at the end of his thumb.  
  
“Touché,” Dean muttered, stopping at a red light. “So Sammy, what are you getting me for Christmas?”  
  
“Sex,” Sam answered, sticking his thumb back in his mouth.  
  
“That’s it?” Dean huffed. “Come on, Sammy.”  
  
“The best sex of your life,” Sam continued, looking at Dean as if he was making a business deal.  
  
Dean thought for a minute, making a soft noise. “Okay, how about … mediocre sex and a new Black Sabbath shirt?”  
  
Sam laughed loudly and shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Only you, Dean,” he muttered, still laughing to himself as he pushed his knees up against the dash.   
  
“Well?” Dean asked, looking at Sam.  
  
Sam shook his head again. “I don’t think a Black Sabbath shirt would be much fun for me.”  
  
“I could _wear_ it,” Dean suggested, “ _during_ the mediocre sex. Then it’s fun for everybody.”  
  
“Dean, if you don’t shut up, I’m not getting you anything,” Sam threatened. “At all. And no, I wasn’t serious, I’ll get you something. Probably. What are you getting _me_?”  
  
“I already told you what I’m getting you,” Dean answered, turning the wheel, glancing in the rear view mirror. “I’m getting you out of that motel.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dylan cooed and looked up at Sam, grabbing at the stuffed animal.  
  
“What’s that, Dylan?” Sam asked, shifting Dylan so he could grab the toy. “What’s that? Who’s this? Do you want this, baby?” He offered it to Dylan, laughing when Dylan grabbed it. “Do you want this one?” He kissed Dylan on the head, smiling. “What should we name him, baby? What do you wanna name him? Can you name him for me, Dylan?”  
  
“Ba,” Dylan answered, in complete gibberish, looking up at Sam. He reached up at Sam, pulling on the ends of his hair. He grinned and began to giggle, reaching out to the toy.  
  
“Ba?” Sam repeated. “Well, okay, Ba it is. Dean, we’ve got a winner!” Sam called, looking around for Dean.  
  
“Alright, what do we got?” Dean asked, wandering back over from the other aisle.  
  
Sam held up the stuffed elephant. “This is Ba.”  
  
Dean studied the toy, nodding. “Is this the one you want, Dylan? Alright, good choice. Let’s see if there’s anything else you want.” He took the toy from Sam and they began walking down the aisle, Sam letting Dylan grab at the toys.  
  
“You like this one too, Dylan?” Sam asked, holding Dylan up to what Sam thought was either supposed to be a dragon or a T-Rex. “Do you like it? Look at it Dyl, isn’t it scary?” He switched Dylan to his other hip and picked up the toy, bumping its nose against Dylan’s. He growled playfully and laughed, before he looked up and saw Dean staring at him, eyebrow raised.  
  
“Okay, I’m going to pretend I didn’t just see that,” Dean said, turning around. “He should get another rattle or something. Oh, and he needs a high chair.”  
  
Sam nodded before looking back at Dylan. “Let me name this one, Dyl, okay? We’ll just name him Rex, okay? Okay Dylan, this is Rex. Because he’s a T-Rex. I think. Hey, Dean, this looks like a T-Rex, right?”  
  
Dean shrugged, picking up a rattle. “I thought it was a dragon.”  
  
“Well, it’s a T-Rex,” Sam snapped, handing Dean the stuffed toy.   
  
Dean nodded, giving him the thumbs up. “Gotcha.” He waved it at Dylan, smiling at him. “You’re going to have quite the collection when we’re done here, Dylan. I’m jealous, I tell ya. How are you going to spend time with me and Mommy with all your new friends?” He handed the stuffed toys over to Sam before lifting Dylan up, sticking his tongue out at him. “Better get my time in now. So Dill Pickle, which rattle do you want?” He picked one up and shook it. “This one?” he asked, offering it to Dylan. He shook it again before setting it down and picking up another. “Or this one?”  
  
Dylan shrieked and squirmed in Dean’s arms, hitting Dean’s shoulders, trying to push himself up, little feet kicking.   
  
“Okay, is that a good freak-out or not?” Dean asked, turning to Sam.  
  
“Uh…good,” Sam suggested, nodding.   
  
“This one it is,” Dean said, handing it to Sam.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam smiled down at Dylan, rubbing his stomach as Dean tried to get the spoon in Dylan’s mouth. “Open up, Dylan, you gotta eat for Daddy.” He reached over and grabbed his milkshake, bringing the straw up to his mouth.  
  
Dylan shook his head and tried to get out of Sam’s grasp, hitting Dean’s hand, almost knocking the strained peaches off the spoon. He looked up at Sam, eyes wide and hopeful, before letting out a loud shriek.  
  
“Mommy’s not going to help you now,” Dean said sternly, lightly tapping Dylan’s knee. “Now come on, Dylan, this is the good stuff. This is peaches. It’s yummy, see?” He brought the spoon up to his own mouth, swallowing the peaches down. “Yummy.” He rubbed his stomach and dipped the spoon back into the small jar. “Now it’s your turn.” He offered the spoon up to Dylan again.  
  
Dylan’s face crumpled and he soon began to sob, face red.  
  
“Dylan, why won’t you eat?” Sam asked, leaning down, putting his face down by Dylan’s, kissing him on the cheek. “It’s good. Do you want your rattle?”  
  
“Sam, don’t bribe the kid, just get him to eat,” Dean said, setting the spoon down, grabbing his own burger.   
  
Sam sighed, picking up the spoon. “Mm, Dylan, peaches. Dylan, you like peaches, I know you do.” He brought the spoon up to Dylan’s mouth for a second before bringing it to his own, eating the small amount of peaches. “Yummy, Dylan. Good thing you don’t want it, now I can eat it all.” He dipped the spoon in the jar again and did the same thing over again; brought the spoon up to Dylan’s mouth eating it himself. “Yum. Mommy likes this, Dylan.”  
  
Dylan stopped crying and watched Sam eat his food, breathing heavily. He groaned and tried to reach up to Sam, but Sam just sat up a bit straighter.   
  
“So good,” Sam smiled, getting a bit more of the peaches on the spoon. “Do you wanna try them now?” He leaned back down and offered the spoon up to Dylan. He gave him a quick kiss, watching Dylan carefully, meeting his eyes.   
  
Dylan opened up his mouth, taking the food in, cheeks looking like a chipmunk’s.   
  
Sam grinned and gave Dylan another kiss, setting the spoon down to grab a napkin and wipe of Dylan’s mouth. “Thank you, Dylan. You have no idea how happy that makes me. Now, spoon number two.”  
  
Dean reached out for his milkshake and took a sip, watching Sam feed Dylan the next spoonful. “Thank god you came, or else he’d be starving.”  
  
Sam looked up at Dean, eyes bright, smiling. “Thanks.” He leaned over a bit, giving Dean a kiss. He grinned when they pulled apart, laughing quietly.  
  
“What?” Dean asked, before he started to laugh himself, simply because of the fact that Sam was. “What?”  
  
Sam just shook his head and gave Dean another kiss. “You taste yummy,” he explained, sitting back, “like peaches.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and took another drink of his milkshake. “And you don’t?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Sam set the spoon down and took a sip of his own milkshake. “Oh well,” he shrugged. “I always taste yummy.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
“Okay, Sam, time to get out,” Dean said, pulling into the parking lot. “I’m going to the new place.”  
  
“You know, I just got a _really_ good idea,” Sam said, turning in his seat.   
  
“No,” Dean said flatly, not even looking over at Sam.   
  
“We should move in _today_!” Sam suggested.   
  
“No,” Dean said again, lolling his head over to look at Sam. “I told you no. We’re moving in Christmas Eve, that’s final.”  
  
“But we could move in today,” Sam said again. “Think of it, Dean. We could settle in and for the first time in two months, sleep in a real bed. _Our_ bed. Dylan sleeping a crib. In his nursery. Say goodnight to him, and shut off the lights and turn on the baby monitor and go to our bedroom…” he leaned over, mouth right by Dean’s ear, “and then we can just do whatever we want, for as long as we want, because it’s our house or our apartment and it’s our bedroom and our bed and there’s no checkout time.” He moved a bit closer and moved his mouth over to Dean’s earlobe, sucking it gently into his mouth, smiling when Dean’s eyes fluttered closed. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”  
  
Dean groaned and he opened his eyes, glancing down at Sam. “Get in the motel and pack.”  
  
Sam grinned so wide Dean thought it had to hurt. “Really?”  
  
Dean sighed and nodded, waving his hand in defeat. “Yeah, really.”  
  
Sam laughed and pushed open the car door, climbing out.  
  
Dean stuck his head out the window, watching Sam. “We’ll need to call Bob, see if we can use his truck!”  
  
“Fine!” Sam called back, running to their room.  
  
Dean shook his head and laughed, glancing into the backseat. “Ready to go home, Dylan?” He grabbed his cell phone off the dash and speed-dialled Bob. “Hey, Bob, what are you doing tonight? Well, we uh-- I think we need to borrow your truck. If you could take the high chair, that’d be nice. Well, our bags are going to be in our trunk. Yeah, we’re moving in today.” He smiled and nodded. “He promised sex, I had to give in.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam bounced Dylan up a bit on his hip and walked around the living room, looking out the window. “I love it,” he said softly, looking down at Dylan. “Isn’t it pretty, Dylan? Look at it. Look out the window.” He held Dylan closer to the window. “Let’s go see your bedroom, baby.” He turned away from the window and walked across the carpeted floor to the hallway leading to Dylan’s bedroom. “Your room’s down here, Dill Pickle, down the hallway.” Sam walked down the hallway, humming softly to Dylan. He walked into the nursery and turned on the lights. “Wow, Dylan, look what Daddy did for you. Look at this, look at your new crib, isn’t it pretty?”  
  
“Sam?” Dean called, closing the porch door. “Where’d you go?”  
  
“Nursery!” Sam called back, walking over to the door.  
  
Dean smiled and walked through the kitchen, dining room and living room before getting to the hallway. “Well, how do you like it?” he asked, making his way down.  
  
“It’s great,” Sam answered, giving Dean a kiss. “I love it. The crib, the mobile, it’s all so nice.”  
  
“That’s good,” Dean nodded, leaning against the doorframe. “I mean, I guess I should’ve waited until you saw it to decide which room was going to be his and which one was gonna be ours, but--”  
  
“Dean, it’s great, okay? I love it and it’s…it’s ours,” Sam grinned. “We have a house.”  
  
Dean nodded. “We do. And you like it?”  
  
Sam nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I do. I love it. It’s perfect.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting kind of late, isn’t it?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, it is.” He sighed and shifted on his feet awkwardly, really unsure of what he was supposed to be doing or saying. “You wanna put Dylan down?”  
  
“He’s not sleepy,” Sam answered, leaning down to let Dylan grab at his stuffed giraffe. “Look, Dyl, look it. We brought all your friends with us. It’s G. Raffe, your best friend. You wanna bring him out to the living room?” He picked up the giraffe and bounced Dylan up a bit, getting a better grip on him.   
  
“Sam?” Dean asked, stepping out of the doorway to let Sam walk by first.  
  
“Yeah?” Sam asked, walking down the hallway.  
  
Dean turned off the nursery light and followed him down the hall. “Whatever I want, right?”  
  
“Right,” Sam nodded.  
  
“Yes,” Dean quietly cheered. He jogged down the hallway, wrapping an arm around Sam’s shoulder, kissing his neck. “So let’s put Dylan down, and go have a romp in the new bedroom.”  
  
Sam laughed loudly and rolled his eyes. “Dean, I’m not going to put him to bed if he’s not tired. We can wait.”  
  
Dean groaned. “Fine. Fine.” He sat down on the couch and patted the spot beside him, smiling up at Sam.  
  
Sam sat down on the couch and leaned down, laying Dylan down on the floor in front of them and dropped the giraffe down. Sam brought his legs up onto the couch, curling up to Dean.  
  
Dean wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulder, pulling him in. “Tired?”  
  
Sam nodded, snuggling in as close to Dean as he could. “Such a long day. Shopping, supper, packing, moving in. _Big_ day.”  
  
Dean took a deep breath, nodding. “Yeah.” He looked down at Dylan, grinning. “I think it’s about to get even bigger.”  
  
Sam groaned, burying his face in Dean’s chest. “I can’t deal with anything else. What is it now?”  
  
Dean nudged Sam’s head, getting him to the look at the floor. “Um, somebody’s gonna crawl.”  
  
“Is it you?” Sam mumbled, before he lifted his head. “Oh, wait.” He looked down at the floor, smiling at Dylan. “You gonna get it today baby?”  
  
Dean reached down and picked up the stuffed toy, placing it a couple feet away from Dylan, who was rocking back and forth on all fours. “Go get it, Dylan, go get the toy. Crawl to the toy. You can do it, Dyl, just move your hands with your knees.” He stood up off the couch and stepped over Dylan, getting down on the floor with him. “See, you’re on your hands and knees like Daddy, can you crawl like me?” He crawled a couple feet, towards G. Raffe and then crawled backwards.  
  
Dylan laughed and shrieked, looking up at Dean before looking over at Sam.  
  
Dean did it again, smiling down at Dylan. “Now it’s your turn, Dylan. Can do you do that?”   
  
Dylan moved his left hand out and bent his left knee, babbling loudly.  
  
Sam sat up straighter and watched Dylan carefully.  
  
Dean grinned and nodded. “Now the other side.”  
  
Dylan moved his other hand and other knee just a bit, slipping on the carpet. He laid on his stomach and wiggled a bit, putting his arms out to drag himself over to the toy. He grabbed onto the giraffe and stopped moving, just yanked on the giraffe’s legs and sat up.  
  
Dean smiled up at Sam, shuffling over to the couch on his knees. “I think our son just crawled.”  
  
Sam grinned and leaned down, brushing his lips against Dean’s. “And now we have to spend every second making sure he doesn’t hurt himself or go somewhere he shouldn’t.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “I did it for you, I can do it for my son.” He pushed himself up. “I’m gonna go call Dad, let him know the good news.”  
  
Sam smiled and slid off the couch, sitting down beside Dylan. “Hi Dylan.”  
  
Dylan babbled up at him, flailing his arms and his giraffe.   
  
Sam reached out and carefully took the giraffe from him, setting it down a couple feet away. “Wanna do it again?”  
  
“Well that’s great, Dean,” John said cheerfully. “That’s great. So you’re in a new place, huh?”  
  
Dean nodded, pacing around the kitchen. “Yeah, it’s a house. We finally have a house, Dad. It’s great.”  
  
“I’m happy for you, Dean,” John told him. “Color me the proud father.”  
  
“So where are you, Dad?” Dean asked, hopping up onto the counter. “What are you hunting?”  
  
“Albuquerque,” John answered. “Routine haunting.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Fuck, I’d give anything for another hunt. Truth be told, this whole domestic shit is driving me insane.” He laughed sadly, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we have a house. God.”  
  
“Uh…a second ago was it was great, Dean,” John reminded him. “Literally, that was your quote. ‘It’s great’.”  
  
“Yeah, I know what I said,” Dean said, leaning back against the cupboards. “Sam’s so fucking happy, it’s-- god, we’re the Brady family.”  
  
“Dean, I mean,” John took a deep breath, “I think two brothers who hunt demons and have sex and one of them gave birth is as _far_ away from the Brady family as you can get.”  
  
Dean had to laugh at that. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Anyway, Sam promised me--” he stopped when he remember who he was talking to, “promised that we would sleep as far away from each other as we could and never touch each other again.”  
  
“I’ll talk to ya later, Dean,” John said, trying not to laugh. “Say hi to everybody for me.”  
  
“Yep,” Dean nodded. “Bye.” He turned off his cell phone and left it on the counter, going over to the door. He looked the door to the patio then turned off the lights. “Dad says hi!” he called, walking back into the living room.  
  
Sam opened his mouth wide, looking at Dylan. “Grampie called, Dylan! Look, there’s Daddy, can you crawl over to Daddy?”  
  
Dean knelt down, smiling at Dylan. “Come to Daddy, Dill Pickle.”  
  
Dylan dropped his toy and went to his stomach, deciding that pulling himself on his arms was easier than on all fours. He dragged himself a couple feet, babbling to Dean. When he got over to Dean, he reached up to him, wiggling on his stomach.  
  
Dean smiled and picked Dylan up, giving him a kiss. “That was great, Dylan, it really was. You’re such a big boy now.”   
  
Dylan sighed and yawned, stretching his arms up, hands balled up into fists.  
  
Dean held him close, standing up. “Are you sleepy, Dyl? Wanna sleep in your nursery for the first time?” He walked over to Sam, offering his hand out to him. “Come on, Sammy, let’s take him to bed.”  
  
Sam grabbed the stuffed giraffe and pushed himself up, following Dean down the hallway, smiling at Dylan over Dean’s shoulder. “Ready for your first night in the nursery, Dylan?”  
  
Dean flicked on a small lamp in the nursery, smiling at Dylan. “Good thing you’re all ready for bed, Dylan,” Dean said softly. He walked over to the crib, laying Dylan down in it carefully. He stood up and spun the mobile, sending it around in circles. “Look Dylan, this is a mobile. Look at it. Pretty, huh?”  
  
Dylan grunted and reached up, eyes wide, watching the mobile spin.   
  
Sam leaned down and gave Dylan a kiss, giving him his giraffe. “If you need us, you cry, okay? Now I know that you’ve never slept alone, Dylan, but I think you do this. Can you sleep alone, for Mommy and Daddy?” He gave him another kiss, looking up to see Dean turning on the baby monitor. “I love you, Dylan. Night night.”  
  
Dean walked over to the crib and leaned in, giving Dylan a kiss of his own. “I love you, Dyl. G’night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite. Be a good boy, Dylan.” He grabbed the other baby monitor, turning it on. “We’ll hear you if you cry.” He smiled down and waved, following Sam out of the nursery. He glanced back and while he wasn’t looking, Sam stopped walking and Dean ran into him. “Sam, you okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, taking a deep breath. “It’s just…he’s all alone down there. What if he needs us?”  
  
Dean waved the baby monitor. “Sammy, it’s hard, I know, but we gotta let him sleep alone. If he doesn’t start soon, he’s going to end up being ten years old, still climbing into bed with us.”  
  
Sam smiled. “What’s so wrong with that?” he asked softly.  
  
“I put up with it from you, Sammy,” Dean reminded him. “It’s not as fun as you might think.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean stretched out his legs, glancing down at Sam, who was asleep, head on Dean’s lap. He ran his fingers through Sam’s hair, practically petting him.  
  
Sam murmured and shifted, hand flopping down to hit the floor. “Nice,” he said softly, looking up at Dean through his bangs.  
  
Dean laughed quietly. “I do good work.”  
  
Sam groaned and struggled to push himself up, almost falling off the couch in the process. “Dylan cry yet?”  
  
“Once,” Dean answered, reaching up to fix Sam’s hair. “I handled it. Rocked him a bit, sang to him; he calmed down pretty quickly.”  
  
“Sorry I fell asleep,” Sam said, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. “I didn’t know I was that tired.”  
  
Dean shrugged, smiling at Sam’s messy appearance; hair pushed up at all angles, shirt wrinkled, eyes wide. “Well it was probably a good idea to get in a nice power nap, I plan on using a lot of energy tonight.”  
  
Sam grinned. “You’re still on about that? God, I thought you would’ve forgotten about that by now.”  
  
Dean grinned right back, shaking his head. “Hell no, Sammy baby. Whatever I want. Your words, not mine. I’ve spent all day thinking about what it is I want.”  
  
Sam licked his drying lips and threw his leg over Dean’s thighs, straddling him. “And what is it that you want?” He ground down just a bit, watching Dean’s eyelids flutter.  
  
“Well first, I’m gonna suck you, right here, on the couch,” Dean began, reaching up to grab onto Sam’s hips. “Real good. Like, make you see stars good. I’m gonna let you come on me, ‘cause I know you like that.”  
  
Sam’s mouth opened slightly and he began to breathe heavily.  
  
“Then I’m gonna fuck you, against the kitchen sink,” Dean continued on, stroking Sam’s hip with his thumb. “But I’m not gonna let you come.”   
  
Sam whimpered already, just at the thought of not being allowed to come.  
  
“Cause once that’s done and I’m all tired and spent and you’re just _dying_ to come,” Dean grinned and waggled his eyebrows, “we’re going to go into our new bedroom, on our new bed, with our new sheets, and you’re gonna fuck _me_ , nice and slow. Probably what a pansy like you would call ‘making love’.”  
  
“I’m not a pansy,” Sam snapped, before leaning down to bite at Dean’s lips, sucking Dean’s tongue into his mouth, groaning softly. He pulled back and grinned, going up on his knees. “Well, let’s get this party started.” He reached down and unzipped his jeans and pulled his dick out through the slit in his boxers.   
  
Dean slouched down on the couch, getting his mouth at the right height before opening his mouth, taking the head in, swirling his tongue around.  
  
Sam gasped and grabbed onto the back of the couch, head going back. He pushed his hips forward, feeling Dean’s jaw open up around him. “Good at that,” Sam mumbled, thrusting his hips again, before pulling back, right hand scraping uselessly against the couch. “Reason I love you.”  
  
Dean grinned around Sam, looking up at him. His eyes darted over to the large window as a car drove by and he suddenly realized something. He pulled off and looked up at Sam.  
  
“This isn’t part of the plan,” Sam growled, pushing his hips forward, leaving precum on Dean’s chin.  
  
Dean smiled. “Yeah well, neither is pissing off the neighbours our first night here either.” He looked over at the window.  
  
Sam frowned in confusion and glanced backwards, nearly falling off Dean and the couch once he realized. “Okay, so we’re having sex right in the living room window.” He shrugged. “I’m okay with that.”  
  
Dean pushed up and this time, Sam did fall off him, landing on the floor with a heavy thud, looking ridiculous with his dick still hanging out.  
  
“Christ, Dean, you couldn’t have just asked?” Sam grumbled, pushing himself up.  
  
Dean shook his head. “More fun that way.” He offered his hand to Sam, pulling him the rest of the way up. “Come on, I’ve got a new plan.”  
  
Sam reached down and tucked himself back in his boxers, leaving his jeans open. He grabbed the baby monitor and followed Dean into their bedroom, closing the door behind them. “Did I tell you that I love this room?”  
  
Dean shrugged, pulling off his t-shirt. “Probably at least ten times.” He quickly worked at his jeans, pushing them down, leaving them on the floor by his shirt.   
  
“So is this plan any good?” Sam asked, pulling his t-shirt off.   
  
Dean nodded eagerly, sitting down on the bed. “Not as good as my first one, I’ll admit. That one is pretty hard to beat, but I think this one will do.” Dean grinned, pushing off his boxer-briefs. He pushed himself up a bit on the bed, sitting in the middle. “Now come on, I’m horny.”  
  
Sam laughed and shook his head, taking off his boxers. “Wow, Dean, you should write for Hallmark.” He walked over to the bed, sitting down before crawling over to Dean, on all fours in front of him. “So uh…how do you want me?” he asked quietly, glancing down at Dean’s dick, hard and curved up to his stomach.  
  
“On me,” Dean answered, equally as quiet, reaching out to Sam.  
  
Sam crawled onto Dean’s lap, looking Dean in the eyes. “Lube?”  
  
Dean nodded and reached back, sticking his hand under the pillow. “You want me to…”  
  
Sam nodded and pushed himself up a bit, wrapping an arm around Dean’s neck, face buried.   
  
Dean popped the cap on the lube and drizzled some onto his fingers, dropping it to the bed. “Just breathe, Sammy, it’s been awhile since-- since we’ve done this.”  
  
Sam blushed and thanked God his face was already hidden. “Just do it.”  
  
Dean reached behind Sam and ran his fingers up and down Sam’s crack, catching slightly before finally just pressing two fingers in.  
  
Sam gasped and clenched around Dean’s fingers, tightening his hold on Dean’s neck. “Holy,” he muttered. “Fuck.”  
  
“That was the basis of both the plans,” Dean smiled, pressing his lips to Sam’s shoulder. He worked his fingers in slowly at first, before quickening the pace, thrusting them in and out. He twisted them inside Sam and hit his prostate, feeling Sam’s knees nearly buckle. Dean slowly dragged his fingers back out and slipped three in this time, slowly and carefully, feeling Sam open up around him. “Tell me when.”  
  
Sam nodded, pulling back slightly, mouthing Dean’s collarbone, licking a line up Dean’s neck to nip at his jaw, before kissing him, mouths moving together slowly. “O-- okay,” Sam whimpered, pushing his hips down on Dean’s fingers.  
  
“Okay,” Dean said, slipping his fingers out to grab at the lube, popping the cap again. He drizzled some more onto his palm and stroked himself a couple times quickly, before nudging at Sam to move onto him.  
  
Sam looked down between them and shifted his hips until he felt the head of Dean’s cock pressing against his hole and he began pushing his hips down, gasping softly, eyes screwing shut. “God, have you--” he gasped again and swallowed hard, pressing his hips down further, “gotten bigger?” he whimpered, lifting his head for only a second before dropping it down again.  
  
Dean shook his head. “At least, I don’t think so.” He wiggled his hips a bit, sliding further into Sam. “You okay?”  
  
Sam nodded furiously, forehead pressed to Dean’s shoulder. “F-- fine.” He was finally seated on Dean and he sat still for only a few seconds before lifting himself up a bit, sliding back down. “Oh god,” he whined, clutching at Dean’s skin, leaving red nail marks. “God god god god god.”  
  
Dean nuzzled the top of Sam’s head, amazed at how much smaller Sam seemed than him at the moment, curled up on his lap. “Sam,” he gasped, nuzzling the top of Sam’s head again. “Sam. Look at me.”  
  
Sam lifted his head, meeting Dean’s eyes. His pupils were blown, the usually striking green just a thin circle around the black. His skin was flushed and his bottom lip was so bruised and swollen Dean could barely resist biting at it. “Dean?” he whimpered, sliding down onto Dean again.   
  
Dean reached between them and grabbed onto Sam’s cock, jerking him off long and slow. “Fucking beautiful,” he breathed, nipping at Sam’s neck before licking at the red skin. “So tight. Fucking tight. Even after everything. So pretty.”  
  
Sam let out a broken cry and his eyes dropped from Dean’s, whimpering and gasping and whining as Dean thrust up into him. “Keep talking. Please keep talking.” He shifted his legs, bringing his ankles up to the small of Dean’s back, toes curling with every thrust and stroke.  
  
“Gorgeous,” Dean continued on, nudging at Sam’s head to get his eyes back on him. “Feeling you around me, wrapped around my dick, every time I thrust you tighten just a little bit more.” He thumbed the slit at the top of Sam’s cock and grinned when Sam whimpered.   
  
Sam met Dean’s eyes again before pulling Dean in for a bruising kiss, nipping at his brother’s lips. “Your lips…” he moved one hand from Dean’s neck, fingers trembling and smeared his thumb across Dean’s bottom lip, groaning when Dean’s tongue came out to tease it. “Cocksucking lips.”  
  
Dean grinned and sucked Sam’s thumb into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue. “The only cock these lips touch is yours,” he murmured, before bringing Sam in for another kiss. “What about your lips, Sammy? Such pretty little lips, do such dirty, _naughty_ things.”  
  
Sam moaned and began riding Dean harder, clenching around him with every grind of his hips. “Harder,” Sam pleaded, before licking at a scar on Dean’s chest.  
  
Dean wasn’t sure whether he meant the thrusting or his hand, but he obeyed with both. “I love you, Sam.”  
  
Sam nodded and his eyes squeezed shut again, brow furrowed, breathing quickly. His legs tightened around Dean before his back arched slightly and his head went back and he came, crying out Dean’s name. He whimpered and let out a broken cry, before ducking his head, eyes squeezed shut as Dean continued to work his hand gently.  
  
“It’s okay,” Dean whispered, rubbing Sam’s back comfortingly, “it’s okay.” He let go of Sam and brought his hand up, tongue darting out to lick off all traces of Sam. He thrust up again, sliding back out slowly, loving the feeling of Sam dragging along his dick. It was a surprise when his orgasm hit him, mid-thrust, spilling into Sam with a wordless cry, mouth open. “Oh fuck, Sammy,” he whimpered, wrapping his arm tighter around Sam.   
  
Sam nodded, reaching up to wipe at his cheeks. “It’s okay, Dean. I’m here.”  
  
Dean sighed and nodded, slowly laying back, taking Sam with him. He slipped out of Sam in the process, groaning softly. “That was…”  
  
“Amazing?” Sam offered, shivering once the adrenalin and endorphins were gone and he realized how cool it was, above the covers.  
  
“Understatement,” Dean murmured.   
  
Sam rolled off of Dean, getting up off the bed to untuck the sheets, crawling into the bed. He shivered again, the sheets cool but they soon warmed up.  
  
Dean stood up and untucked the sheets on the other side of the bed, crawling in alongside Sam. “I love you, Sammy.”  
  
Sam waited until Dean was settled then he rolled over, settling in half-on Dean, head by his on the same pillow, one arm over his chest. “I love you too, Dean.”  
  
Dean took a deep breath and yawned loudly, running his fingers up and down Sam’s spine, feeling him shiver beneath him. “Wow.”  
 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 23  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter  
**Summary:** Christmas Eve like only the Winchesters could do it.  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

**eight months and twelve days old**  
  
Sam jumped at the honking horn and pulled back the curtains in the kitchen to glare at Dean and give him the finger. “I’m really sorry about this Michael; I mean, it’s Christmas Eve, I’m sure you and Paula had plans. Fa-- family or something.”  
  
Michael shook his head, smiling down at Dylan in his carrier on the table. “My family lives on the other side of the country, and Paula’s family is in Oregon, visiting her sister. We were going to stay in anyway.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam said, shifting on the balls of his feet. The horn honked again and Sam smiled apologetically. “Sorry. We won’t be _too_ late, I don’t think. Maybe like, one at the latest. Two, at the definite latest.”  
  
Michael laughed softly, smiling.  
  
“Thank you so much for watching him, Mike,” Sam said quickly, looking out the window again. “Especially on short notice. I told Dean I could stay home but he insisted I go with him.”  
  
Michael shrugged, reaching down to unbuckle Dylan from his carrier. He lifted him up, sitting him on his hip. “Just pick a designated driver and don’t forget to pick him up.”  
  
Sam smiled. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.” He leaned down, giving Dylan a kiss, ruffling his hair. “He’s been kind of fussy all day, so I don’t know, just don’t--”  
  
“We can handle it, Sam,” Michael assured him. “Trust me on this one. Just have a good time, for those of us who can’t.”  
  
Sam smiled again and walked over to the kitchen door. “Bye-bye, Dill Pickle, be good!”  
  
Michael waved and Dylan reached out to him, but Sam just slipped out the door, jogging down the porch steps and down the driveway, hitting the Impala hood as he went around to his side.  
  
“What the hell was that for?” Dean asked, glancing at Sam. “Hitting my baby like that.”  
  
“You honked!” Sam exclaimed. “Twice! Do you have any idea how rude that is?”  
  
Dean shrugged and peeled out of the driveway quickly. “I gotta keep Mike on his toes, he is watching our child, you know.”  
  
Sam sighed in exasperation. “Because you wouldn’t let me stay home!”  
  
Dean shrugged again. “Oh, get over it Sam, you’re gonna have fun. You better have fun, since I gotta stay sober to drive your ass home.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean knocked on the door, glaring at Sam, who was shifting on his feet. “Sam, calm down. It’s just a party.”  
  
“Dylan was fussy all day,” Sam explained, “maybe he’s sick. We should go back, keep an eye on him. Paula and Michael don’t know what to look for.” He turned to leave but stopped when Dean grabbed onto his sleeve. “I don’t wanna be here.”  
  
Dean opened his mouth to speak but stopped when the door opened, Bob appearing, loud music blaring. “Hey, Bob!” he smiled. “What’s going on?”  
  
“Dean-o, buddy,” Bob grinned, reaching out to pat Dean on the shoulder. “Party on!” He stepped aside and let Dean walk by, cutting Sam off. He wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulder, offering him his beer.   
  
“I’m the designated driver,” Dean said, shaking his head at the beer.   
  
Bob shrugged and glanced back at Sam, who had pushed the door shut and was scanning the crowd, obviously avoiding Bob’s eyes. “One beer never killed anybody, Dean. Just the one. Besides, Sam doesn’t look much like a drinker, let him drive.”  
  
“Oh, Sam doesn’t--” Dean began, but was cut off by Bob.  
  
“Oh right, the hand,” Bob nodded, waving his right hand. “Gear shift. Got ya. Well you can still drink, I’ll let you crash here, if you want.”  
  
“We’re not crashing here,” Sam interrupted, stepping up behind them. “We have to pick up Dylan after this.”  
  
Bob raised an eyebrow. “Okay, whatever. Well then, do _you_ want my beer?” he asked, holding it out to Sam.  
  
Sam studied the bottle before snatching it out of Bob’s hand. “Got anything stronger?” he asked, plastering on a smile.  
  
Bob grinned right back, nodding. “Always. What’s your poison?”  
  
“Anything that makes me want to be here,” Sam murmured, before smiling again. “Tequila should do.”  
  
Bob nodded once while Dean’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “Alright, tequila it is. Follow me to the bar, Samuel.”  
  
Sam groaned, almost hating being called Samuel more than Sammy.   
  
“Sam, tequila?” Dean asked, grabbing onto Sam’s arm, following Bob into the kitchen. “You can barely handle champagne.”  
  
Sam snorted. “Hey, you’re the one who said that you wanted me to have fun. I’m just doing what you would be doing.”  
  
“Sam, _I_ can hardly handle tequila!” Dean exclaimed. “Bob, he’s just going to have the beer.”  
  
Bob turned around and finished pouring the shot. “Are you sure? I’ve got the limes and salt.”  
  
“I’m sure,” Dean answered, before Sam could. “And give me a beer too, I can handle that.”  
  
Bob nodded and walked over to the fridge, opening it up to grab a beer. He handed it off to Dean, checking to see how much beer was left in the bottle he had given to Sam. “When that one runs out, you can just come in here.”  
  
Sam nodded and took a long drink, wiping his mouth.  
  
“Come on, Dean, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Bob said, glancing at Dean.  
  
“Uh…” Dean said, looking at Sam helplessly. “Sure?”  
  
Sam nodded, taking another drink. “It’s only one house, I’m sure I can find you, Dean.”  
  
Dean smiled thankfully and followed Bob out of the kitchen.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and set the beer down, picking up the shot glass. He downed it quickly, groaning, shaking his head. “That’s strong,” he muttered, looking around. He picked up the bottle and wrapped his lips around the neck, taking a quick drink. “Holy shit,” he said, setting the bottle down. He turned around and saw Bob and Dean laughing, talking to another man. “I’m gonna need something a _lot_ stronger to make this fun.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam groaned and almost dropped his glass as he shoved by some guy who was grinding up against some girl. He scanned above the crowd, looking for Dean. He finally spotted him over in the corner, talking to some woman and Bob. “Dean!” he called, his voice practically getting lost in the blaring music.   
  
Dean looked up at the sound and grinned, waving Sam over.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and pushed by another guy. “If I could get over there, I would,” he muttered, finally breaking through the big crowd and making it to Dean, stumbling slightly.   
  
“Call Paula?” Dean asked, leaning up to kiss Sam on the cheek.  
  
Sam nodded, taking a drink. “Yep.”  
  
“How’s Dylan?” Dean asked, eyeing Sam’s glass, before sniffing at Sam’s breath.  
  
“Fine,” Sam murmured, downing the rest of his drink. He eyed Bob, practically glaring at him. “What’s everybody talking about?”  
  
Dean smiled, wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist, pulling him in close. “Just work stuff.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam said flatly, reaching down to peel Dean’s hand off his waist.  
  
“So what’ve you been up to lately, Sammy?” Bob asked, grinning.  
  
“It’s Sam,” Sam snapped, taking Dean’s drink out of his hand, drinking it himself.   
  
Bob laughed into his beer and the girl beside him raised an eyebrow. “Okay, _Sam_ , what have you been up to lately? Other than being the dutiful househusband.”   
  
Sam glared at Bob again, taking a step towards him before Dean stepped in front of him, shaking his head.   
  
“Not worth it, Sam,” Dean said quietly. “He’s just drunk.”  
  
“I’m not drunk,” Bob defended, even as he lifted his beer bottle and wavered on his feet. “I was just asking. I’m sorry, do you prefer house _wife_?”  
  
Sam groaned and tried to push by Dean but Dean braced himself, holding Sam off with both hands. “You’re lucky Dean’s here, Bob, or else I’d kick your ass.”  
  
Bob grinned and the girl, who Sam still had no idea was, laughed. “Yeah, I’d like to see that.”  
  
Dean glanced back at Bob, before snatching his drink back from Sam. “Sam, can I talk to you for a second? Alone, please?” He turned to face Bob. “Can we use your room, Bob?”  
  
Bob nodded, downing the rest of his beer. “Whatever. But if you stain my sheets, change ‘em.”  
  
Sam snorted and Dean rolled his eyes, manhandling Sam down the hallway, till he found what he figured was Bob’s bedroom. Dean walked into the room, waiting until Sam had walked in before he closed the door and turned on the lights. “Okay, drink much tonight, Sammy? You smell like tequila. The tequila I told you not to drink.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Maybe I did take a little sip of tequila. Then the vodka…I think I bummed some whiskey off somebody. I don’t really know what it was. I’m fine though.” He took a step and stumbled a couple feet, a grin spreading across his face. “And you thought I couldn’t hold my liquor.”  
  
“Sam, you’re even more drunk than Bob,” Dean said, crossing his arms.  
  
“I wanna go home,” Sam said quickly, sitting down on the bed, staying as close to the edge as he could, not really wanting to touch anything of Bob’s. “Dean, it’s Christmas Eve; I can’t believe you thought spending time with a bunch of drunken assholes would be more fun than spending time with our son. With each other.”  
  
“Okay, well, if you’re not careful, you’re going to end up being one of those drunken assholes,” Dean said, pacing around Bob’s room. “Besides, we spend all our time together. And it’s great for Paula and Mike, they love Dylan.”  
  
“So do I!” Sam exclaimed. “He’s _my_ son! You said you wanted this Christmas to be better than last year’s; so far, it’s pretty shitty.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, leaning against the dresser, reaching up to scratch at his stubble. “Don’t pay any attention to Bob, he’s drunk too.”  
  
“Do you talk about me to him?” Sam asked, pressing his palms to the mattress. “Do you tell him that I’m _dutiful_? Does he think that you like, order me around or something?”  
  
“Sam, he’s drunk,” Dean repeated, pushing himself off the dresser. “No, I don’t say that. I’ve never said that. And I mean, of course I talk to you about him; you’re my brother.”  
  
“He doesn’t know that!” Sam cried. “Nobody knows that! That’s the point! Nobody knows I’m your brother, so everybody thinks I’m your bitch!”  
  
Dean sighed and turned around. “Sam, calm down. _Quiet_ down. Before somebody hears you and they call the cops. And nobody thinks you’re my bitch; you top just as often as I do.”  
  
“That’s not what that means,” Sam snapped, shoving Dean lightly. “They all think you order me around! They think I’m your housewife! Is that what _you_ think?”  
  
“Well…” Dean shrugged, dropping his eyes. “You kind of are, ya know? I mean, we’re not married or anything, but you-- I work and you stay home, take care of Dylan and the house. That’s what a housewife does.”  
  
Sam groaned and stood up quickly, rubbing at his eyes. “But that’s not what I am. I’m not. I-- I could-- I could’ve been the one that worked but you--” he groaned again, pressing his palms into his eyes. “I’m not your housewife, Dean!”  
  
“Fine!” Dean yelled. “You’re not my housewife! Do you want to leave?”  
  
“You want me to leave, don’t you?” Sam asked, glaring at Dean. “So then you and Bob can talk about me at work even more, about how I’m such a little bitch and all I do is whine and complain.”  
  
Dean sighed. “Sam, you want to leave, this is your chance. If we don’t leave now we’re not going until I want to.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, mocking Dean under his breath. “Whatever, _Dad_. Now if you’ll excuse me, I want more tequila.” He moved to push by Dean, but Dean didn’t budge. “Dean, move,” he whined, taking a step to the left, but Dean just cut him off. “Please?”  
  
“You’re going to embarrass yourself out there,” Dean said. “And me.”  
  
“You’re not embarrassed to be seen with Bob,” Sam pointed out. “He’s drunk too. He called me Sammy. He called me a househusband. Who the fuck calls people a househusband? Crazy drunk assholes call people a househusband.”  
  
“You haven’t called anybody househusband yet,” Dean muttered. “Sam, you’re drunk. I’ve known you your entire life, I’ve seen you as shit-faced as it gets. You can’t go out there, you might say something you’ll regret.”  
  
Sam snickered, rolling his eyes. “You just don’t want me to embarrass you in front of your cool friends and Bob. I have no problem going out there, telling everybody what we do. What we’ve done. You’re just a tight ass.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “I’ve told more people about our hunting than you have, Sam. You didn’t even tell Jessica.”  
  
“Don’t talk about her,” Sam snapped, shoving Dean. “And I wasn’t really talking the hunting.”  
  
Dean looked at Sam in confusion, before his eyes widened in understanding. “Sam, what we do is illegal. You can’t tell anybody, we’ll go to prison. They’ll take Dylan away from us.”  
  
Sam shrugged and wavered a bit on his feet, eyes fluttering. “I wouldn’t actually say anything,” he murmured. “I’m not an idiot.” He reached up, rubbing at his eyes before he just collapsed to the floor, curling up on his side at Dean’s feet. “My head hurts,” he muttered.  
  
Dean nodded and sat down beside Sam, rubbing his back comfortingly. “Maybe we should’ve just stayed home.”  
  
Sam nodded weakly. “You’re so pretty,” he said, breaking through the seriousness, giggling.   
  
Dean had to smile and he shook his head. “Thanks, Sammy.”  
  
“It’s Sam,” Sam grumbled, rolling over onto his other side. “I wouldn’t tell anybody,” he said softly, picking at the carpet. “I would never tell anybody. Anything. I promise.”  
  
Dean nodded. “I know. I just-- I worry about you sometimes. You’re my little brother. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. That’s why I didn’t want you to drink.”  
  
Sam sighed dreamily. “You’re always looking out for me, Dean.”  
  
Dean smiled. “If I don’t, who else is going to?”  
  
Sam struggled to push himself up, right hand curled up to his chest. “I’m such an asshole,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Why do you put up with me?”  
  
Dean shrugged. He wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him in. “Because I love you. ‘Cause I never loved anybody else more than you. ‘Cause nobody else ever loved _me_ any more than you.”  
  
“Really?” Sam asked, eyes wide and hopeful.  
  
“Well, that and you’re great at rimming,” Dean grinned. He pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s head, holding him close. “Bob didn’t mean what he said. Tomorrow, he’s not even going to remember.”  
  
Sam nodded, taking a deep breath.  
  
“You’re not a bitch, you’re not _my_ bitch and you’re not my househusband,” Dean smiled. “Or housewife. You’re my Sam. Okay? And if anybody ever says anything else, I’ll set ‘em straight.”  
  
Sam nodded again. “Okay.” He smiled and leaned in, planting a sloppy, wet kiss on Dean’s cheek, practically sucking the skin into his mouth. He pulled back, giggling loudly in Dean’s ear.  
  
Dean groaned loudly, wiping at his cheek. “Christ, Sam. Drinking certainly does nothing for your oral skills.”  
  
Sam laughed again, reaching down to play with Dean’s zipper. “I’ll show you oral skills,” he smiled.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and picked Sam’s hand up off his lap. “Not in Bob’s house, and especially not in Bob’s bedroom. I’d have to go home and boil myself.” He shuddered. “And it’s Christmas Eve. Blow jobs on Christmas Eve is like blasphemy or something.” He pushed himself up and leant down, pulling Sam to his feet. “Jesus Sam, I thought you lost all the baby weight.”  
  
“Shut up,” Sam grumbled, pushing Dean away from him. “I did. I look gre--” He burped loudly and shook his head, wiping at his mouth.  
  
“Well, that’s attractive,” Dean muttered, grabbing onto Sam’s arm. “Can take the boy out of the South but can’t take the South out of the boy, that it Sam?”  
  
“Kansas isn’t South,” Sam pointed out, stumbling towards the door. “It’s Midwestern. Kansas is the geographical center of the forty-eight states, you know.”  
  
Dean frowned. “But there’s fifty states.”  
  
“Alaska and Hawaii don’t count,” Sam explained, smiling as he leaned against the door, pulling Dean into him. “Dean, you’re the best big brother a guy could have.” He wrapped his long arms around Dean’s waist, patting his back.  
  
Dean reached up and patted Sam’s shoulders. “That’s great, Sammy. How ‘bout letting me go now so I can drive your drunk-ass home?”  
  
Sam grinned and let go of Dean, pushing himself off the door. “I’m not going to remember any of this tomorrow, am I?”  
  
Dean grinned right back and opened up the door, walking out into the hallway. “Probably not. But you’re going to remember everything you’ve eaten.”  
  
Sam groaned at the thought and followed Dean out of the bedroom.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam jolted awake when the car pulled to a stop and he reached out, bracing himself against the dashboard. “Are we home? Where are we?” He looked at Dean, rubbing his eyes. “Dean, are we home?”  
  
“Calm down, Sammy,” Dean said, reaching over to pat Sam on the knee. “ _Yes_ , we’re home. Come on, get out.” He opened up the car door and climbed out.  
  
“Did we get Dylan?” Sam asked loudly. He jumped when Dylan began to cry from the backseat, and he glanced back. “Shit.”  
  
“That would be him now,” Dean said, going around to the other side. He opened up the back door and reached in, unbuckling the car seat, lifting it out of the car. He pushed the door closed with his hip and rapped on Sam’s window. “You planning on camping out or something?”  
  
Sam took a second to react, the alcohol really slowing down his reflexes. “Yeah.” He reached over with his left hand and pushed open the door, grabbing at his head when he stood too quickly. “God, I think I’m dying.”  
  
“Then get your ass in the house,” Dean snapped, unlocking the door to the porch. “I won’t have you die on the lawn.” He pushed open the door and picked up the carrier, shushing Dylan. He toed off his boots and opened the door to the house, walking in. “Alright, Dylan, let’s get you out of here.” He set the carrier down on the counter and unbuckled Dylan from it, lifting him up. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, Dyl, it’s okay. Daddy’s here.”   
  
Sam stumbled up the two stairs and walked into the porch, locking the door behind him. He kicked off his sneakers, cringing when one of them hit something in the corner and he walked into the house, closing the porch door behind him. “Sorry,” he apologized, ducking his head when he heard Dylan still crying.  
  
“It’s okay,” Dean assured him, swaying back and forth, rubbing Dylan’s back. “Come on, Sam, I got something to make you both feel better. Go get ready for bed, we’ll be there in a sec.”  
  
Sam nodded dumbly before walking through the kitchen and dining room, turning the corner into their bedroom. He walked over to the dresser, pulling it open to grab a pair of sweats. He undid his shirt as quickly as he could, but it seemed like he was all thumbs. He pulled off his t-shirt, suddenly sweating and undid his jeans, pushing them and his boxers down. He grabbed the sweats, pulling them on and walked over to the bed, crawling in, grabbing the pillow, pulling it over his head.   
  
“No time for that, Sammy,” Dean said, sounding impossibly cheerful, sitting down on the bed. “It’s story time.”  
  
“I’m twenty-four!” Sam protested, pulling the sheets up. “Leave me alone, I’m dying.”  
  
“Sam, shut up,” Dean said, laying Dylan down on the bed. He quickly undressed down to his boxers and lifted Dylan back up, laying down on the bed, propped up by the headboard. He cradled Dylan in one arm and opened the book, clearing his throat. “ _Every Who down in Who-ville liked Christmas a lot. But the Grinch, who lived just north of Who-ville, did not_!”  
  
Sam groaned but pulled his head out from under the pillow, smiling at Dylan.  
  
“Look at the picture, Dylan, look it,” Dean said quietly, rubbing Dylan’s arm softly. “That’s the Grinch.”  
  
Dylan pointed at the picture, hitting the book. “Haba!”  
  
“Haba, exactly,” Dean nodded. “ _The Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Now, please don’t ask why, no one quite knows the reason_. See Dylan, that means that the Grinch doesn’t like Christmas, which is what today is. But nobody knows why. Nobody. Do you know why?”  
  
“ _It could be his head wasn’t screwed on just right, it could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight_ ,” Sam recited from memory, reaching up to scratch at his chest.  
  
Dean grinned, glancing down at Sam. “ _But I think that the most likely reason of all may have been that his heart was two sizes too small_. Isn’t that sad, Dylan? His heart was too small. Nobody loved him.” Dean reached down and pressed a couple fingers to the middle of Dylan’s chest. “Your heart is just perfect, because everybody loves you.”  
  
Sam smiled, stretching out on the bed before pushing himself up, leaning against Dean’s shoulder, looking down at the book and Dylan.  
  
By the time the book was over, Dylan was back asleep, tiny lips pouting, hand grasping onto one of Sam’s fingers.   
  
“Should we put him in the crib?” Sam asked softly, looking up at Dean.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said, nodding. He set the book down and swung his legs off the bed, carefully standing up, holding Dylan up to his chest.  
  
Dylan stirred a bit in his arms, curling even more up to Dean’s chest, tiny fist up by his head.   
  
Sam slowly stood up and followed behind Dean, going down to Dylan’s nursery. He smiled when he walked in the room, looking around at the Safari themed room, with Dylan’s few stuffed animals sitting on a shelf, matching the theme. “Dean, why doesn’t his clock match the rest of the room?” He wavered on his feet, reaching out to wall.  
  
Dean laid Dylan down in the crib, spinning the mobile slightly. “Oh yeah. I don’t know. I didn’t want the Safari theme to be like, whoa. The clock balances it out. What? Do you think we should buy another one?”  
  
“No, I’m just noticing now, it kind of stands out,” Sam explained, still wavering on his feet.  
  
Dean reached into the crib, rubbing Dylan’s stomach gently, before moving up to play with his soft blonde hair. “Stay asleep, Dylan. Be a good boy and sleep, or Santa won’t come tonight.”  
  
Sam smiled and reached out to Dean. “Come on, let’s go before he wakes up again.”  
  
Dean nodded and walked out of the nursery, padding down the hallway. “Sam?” he asked, when he realized Sam was still in the nursery.  
  
Sam jumped slightly, leaning down over the crib, smiling at Dylan. “He’s so perfect.”  
  
Dean smiled, leaning against the wall. “Yeah, he is.”  
  
Sam leaned down and gave Dylan a kiss. He grabbed something off a shelf and walked out of the nursery, smiling at Dean.  
  
“What’s that?” Dean asked, pushing himself off the wall.  
  
“Nothing,” Sam said, hiding whatever it was behind his back. “Come on, let’s just go to bed.”  
  
Dean frowned but walked down the hall, leading Sam into their bedroom, closing the door behind them. “Sam, what’d you take?”  
  
Sam smiled, crawling back into the bed. He held it out to Dean, who took it before flopping down on the bed.   
  
“The Night Before Christmas?” Dean asked, examining the book. “What’s this?”  
  
Sam shrugged, snuggling into the fluffy pillows. “Dad used to read it to us when we were kids. Figured you could carry on the tradition.”  
  
“Then why did we put Dylan down?” Dean asked.  
  
“Because this is _our_ tradition,” Sam explained. “He has the Grinch, we have this. Please?”  
  
Dean sighed, crawling under the sheets, snuggling into Sam. “Okay. _‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care_ \--”  
  
Sam jolted up. “Shit. We forgot to put the presents out.”  
  
Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s head, easing him back down. “Shh, Sammy. I’ll get them when we’re done here. Just go to sleep, okay? _In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there_.”  
  
Sam grinned, laying his head against Dean’s chest, closing his eyes.  
  
“ _The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; and mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter's nap_.” Dean stopped talking and began to laugh to himself.   
  
“What?” Sam asked, not lifting his head or opening his eyes.   
  
“I guess that makes you ‘mamma’,” Dean said, still laughing.  
  
Sam shrugged. “I am Dylan’s mommy.”  
  
“Hmm,” Dean said, thinking for a second. “Okay then, back to the story. _When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below_.”  
  
“How about next Christmas,” Sam began, taking a deep breath, “we go somewhere where it snows for Christmas. We can take him to Bobby’s! Bobby would love to meet Dylan.”  
  
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. “Sam, Bobby barely puts up with us. You really think he’s going to want a toddler hanging around?”  
  
“You really think he’s got anything better going for him around Christmas?” Sam replied. He settled back onto Dean’s chest, yawning. “Dylan could play in the snow.” He sighed dreamily. “I really hope I remember all this tomorrow. I did have a lot of tequila though.”  
  
Dean sniffed. “Yeah, I know, I can still smell it. Now quiet down and let me finish. _When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, with a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; now, Dasher, now Dancer, now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet, on Cupid, on, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away, dash away, dash away all! As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky._ Dean stopped talking for a second, frowning.  
  
“What?” Sam asked, voice barely audible; it was obvious he was already half-asleep or half-passed out, depending on whether sleep or alcohol got to him first.  
  
“What the hell does that sentence mean?” Dean asked. “The ‘as dry leaves’ part. What’s that?”  
  
“It’s saying how like, right before there’s a hurricane, all the leaves fly everywhere, into the sky,” Sam explained, before yawning loudly. “Or something like that, I’m not really sure.”  
  
Dean cleared his throat and continued on anyway. “ _So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too_.” He flipped through the rest of his pages, scanning the words. “There’s a lot more to this story than I thought there was.”  
  
“Just get to my favourite part,” Sam murmured, reaching up to wipe a bit of drool off his mouth.  
  
“Okay, okay,” Dean said, flipping to the last page. “ _But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight, Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night_.” He closed the book and pressed another kiss to the top of Sam’s head, ruffling his hair. “Good night, Sammy.”  
  
Sam smiled and curled further into Dean, before burping loudly.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “God, Sammy,” he muttered, reaching over to turn off the light.  
 

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 24  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** On Dean's birthday, they get a call from John, who needs help on the other side of the country  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.   
 

 

**nine months and twelve days old**  
  
Dean’s cell phone rang, filling the air with his Sweet Home Alabama ringtone. Dean made a move to stand but Sam just smiled and stood up instead.  
  
“I’ll get it,” Sam told him, walking towards the sound. He walked out of the dining room into the living room, listening for a second before going to the couch, lifting up a pillow to find the phone. “Hello?” he asked, walking back into the dining room. “Oh, hey Dad, what’s going on?” He sat down and handed the phone over to Dean. “It’s for you.”  
  
Dean set down his fork and took the phone, leaning back in his chair. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?” There was static and John’s voice kept cutting off, but Dean was pretty sure he heard a ‘Happy Birthday’ thrown in. “Yeah, thanks, Dad. Big two-nine.”  
  
“I’m in Falling Spring,” John said, but Dean was pretty sure he had missed the first half of that sentence. “What are you two doing?”  
  
“Uh, right now?” Dean asked. “Eating supper. Why? What’s going on?”  
  
“Demon,” John answered, phone cutting the rest of his answer off. “Need you boys to come.”  
  
Dean’s eyes opened wide and he sat forward in his chair. “Dad, we can’t just-- I mean, I work and there’s Dylan.”  
  
“You stay, Sam comes,” John suggested, the static getting worse.  
  
“Dad, Sam can’t hunt anymore,” Dean reminded him. “Or drive.” There was loud crackling over the line and Dean had to pull the phone away from his ear. “Dad?”  
  
“Need you,” John’s voice crackled across the line. “Gotta come.”  
  
Dean frowned. “Dad, where are you? What’s the motel?”  
  
“Ingram,” John answered. “Come quick.”  
  
Dean pulled the phone back from his ear, studying it closely. “He’s gone.”  
  
“What’d he say?” Sam demanded. “What’s going on?”  
  
“Some demon,” Dean answered. “Falling Spring, Virginia. Ingram Motel or something. He needs our help.”  
  
“But--” Sam began, but Dean just shook his head.  
  
“I told him that,” Dean interrupted. “He sounds like he really needs us, Sam and I’m not leaving our father out there, alone, with some demon. Not now, after he asked for our help.”  
  
“What are we supposed to do?” Sam asked. “We can’t just pick up and leave. You have to work tomorrow and Saturday. And you said it before, Bob’s getting on you about missing so much work.”  
  
“Sam, our father just _called_ us,” Dean said, leaning over the table. “He obviously needs our help, or else he wouldn’t’ve called.”  
  
Sam sighed, reaching up to scratch at his cheek. “So are we going?”  
  
Dean took a deep breath and pushed his chair back, pacing back and forth. “I don’t know. I mean, we should, but can we? But I really don’t want to leave me out there with a demon if he needs us. You-- Paula and Mike would take Dylan. If we asked.”  
  
Sam sighed and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his face “I don’t know,” he breathed, shaking his head. “I just don’t know. I mean, our father is out there and he needs us but I-- we can’t just leave.” He groaned and lifted his head. “If we didn’t have Dylan we’d be packing already.”  
  
“I know,” Dean agreed, nodding, “but we knew that. I think. We knew we couldn’t keep doing this with him.”   
  
“You can go,” Sam suggested, dropping his head back down. “I can stay here, with Dylan. Hold down the fort. Make up some excuse for Bob.”  
  
Dean stopped walking and leaned against the wall, hand up to his mouth, shaking his head. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe he called us! He knows we can’t just leave.” He took a deep breath and jumped as Dylan’s cries came over the baby monitor. “I’ll go get him, you…”  
  
“I’ll go start to pack,” Sam said, pushing his chair back. He walked with Dean out of the dining room before they spilt up, Sam going into the bedroom, Dean going down to Dylan’s nursery.   
  
Dean jogged down the hallway and pushed open the nursery door, smiling down at Dylan. “Hey, Dylan, hi. How are you?” He reached in and lifted Dylan up, holding him up to his chest. He winced a bit, Dylan’s shrieking and screeching right in his ear. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, Daddy’s here. It’s okay.” He gave Dylan a kiss and looked around the room, bouncing Dylan up and down. “It’s okay.”  
  
Dylan calmed down a bit and stopped squirming in Dean’s arms, snuggling into Dean’s chest. “Bada,” he babbled into Dean’s shirt, reaching up for something. “Bada.”  
  
“What’s bada?” Dean asked, looking around. “Do you mean Ba?” he asked, reaching out to Dylan’s stuffed elephant. “Here’s Ba, is this what you want?”  
  
Dylan began to cry again, shaking his head. “Bada,” he cried, kicking his tiny feet into Dean’s chest.   
  
“What’s bada?” Dean asked again, rubbing Dylan’s back. “Is that--” he looked around, trying to figure out what it was Dylan wanted. “Is that Mommy? Do you want Mommy?” He sighed and turned around, walking Dylan out of the nursery, down the hall, going into the master bedroom. “Sam, do you know what ‘bada’ means?”  
  
Sam looked over at Dean, frowning before shaking his head. “No clue. Did you try Ba?”  
  
Dean nodded. “He just cried even more.”  
  
Sam shrugged, walking over to Dean, smiling down at Dylan. “What’s bada, Dyl? What’s bada?” He dropped the t-shirt he was about to shove into Dean’s bag and lifted Dylan up, smiling at him. “Hi, Dylan, what’s bada?” He rocked Dylan a bit, letting Dylan suck on the end of his finger. “What’s going on, Dill Pickle? What’s going on?”   
  
Dylan squirmed in Sam’s arms, head going back a bit to look up at Dean, who just smiled down at him. He sighed and reached up to Dean, fingers wiggling.  
  
Dean leaned down and let Dylan grab at his chin, before giving him a quick kiss. He looked at the shirt Sam dropped and frowned. “Why are you packing _my_ stuff?” he asked, looking up at Sam.  
  
“Um…” Sam shifted Dylan in his arms and crouched down, grabbing Dean’s shirt.   
  
“You’re not coming,” Dean said flatly, taking the shirt from Sam. “I thought you were coming.”  
  
“I thought I wasn’t,” Sam said, trying to get Dylan’s fingers out of his hair. “Wait, so I’m coming?”  
  
“I don’t know, are you?” Dean asked, glancing over at his bag. “Okay, I have no idea what’s going on.”  
  
Sam laughed softly, shaking his head. He shifted Dylan again and gave him a quick kiss, trying to get him to calm down. “Be good, Dylan.” He bit his lip and looked at Dean thoughtfully, head cocked slightly to the side. “Well I can’t go ‘cause I can’t drive. And since you have to go, I may as well go too.”  
  
“And Dylan?” Dean asked, reaching down to let Dylan play with his fingers. “We have no idea what we’re getting into. It could be _any_ demon. It could be a fallen angel or something. And the last time we faced off with a fallen angel--”  
  
“I got pregnant,” Sam muttered. “Which, when you think about it, is really weird.”  
  
“Just figured that out, did ya?” Dean smirked. He leaned down a bit, getting face to face with Dylan. “Hi, Dylan.”  
  
Dylan screeched and started to giggle, bouncing up in Sam’s arms. He reached out with one hand and grabbed onto Dean’s cheek, letting go and shrieking again when Dean grinned.   
  
“What do you wanna do?” Dean asked Dylan. “You wanna stay with Paula and Mikey? You wanna go visit Grampie? Remember Grampie? Yeah, you wanna go see him?”  
  
“We’d have to give Paula and Mike a reason, why we’re leaving on such short notice,” Sam pointed out. “That could get…interesting.”  
  
“Maybe we should tell them the truth,” Dean suggested, while making faces at Dylan. “They’re kind of our only friends, they deserve to know.”  
  
“I’m-- I’m not comfortable with that,” Sam admitted. “With them knowing. Actually, with leaving Dylan on one side of the country while we’re on the other. We’d be so far away.” He rubbed Dylan back, shushing him. “Would you miss us, Dyl? I know we’d miss you.” He gave Dylan a kiss, smiling when Dylan reached up wipe at his mouth. “God, this is hard,” Sam groaned. “Shit.”  
  
Dean turned around and grabbed Sam’s cell phone, quickly dialling Michael and Paula. “Hey Mike, it’s Dean.”  
  
Sam’s eyes opened wide and he started to shake his head, trying to smack the phone out of Dean’s hands.   
  
“Our father’s gotten into some trouble, in Virginia, and we were wondering-- well yeah, kind of,” Dean said, moving away from Sam, giving him a dirty look. “That would help. Oh, she is? Well what about you?”  
  
“Dean, stop it,” Sam snapped quietly, trying to grab the phone.  
  
“Well you could just stay here,” Dean suggested. “Actually, I think that’d be better; Dylan’s finally getting settled into his nursery, I don’t think it’d be a great idea to move him right now.” He grinned and laughed to himself. “Yes Michael, anything you want in the fridge.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, bouncing Dylan up a bit.   
  
Dean glanced back at Sam, nibbling his lip. “As soon as possible, Mike. Our father, well, it could be bad. No, I mean, I’m sure it’ll be fine but it could go the other way. Okay, anytime. No Michael, we won’t leave until you get here, I heard that urban legend too. Alright, bye.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Sam asked, tilting his head back, trying to get Dylan’s fingers away from his eyes. “What’d he say?”  
  
“Paula is out of town, some apartment building deal,” Dean began, walking over to his bag. “Michael said he can watch Dylan though, and he’ll stay here to do it. As long as he can eat whatever he wants. Basically, we’ve got ourselves a sitter for the next few days.”  
  
“I can’t believe we’re leaving him,” Sam muttered, looking at Dylan. “Yes, Dylan, I can’t believe we’re leaving you. Are you going to miss us? Are you going to miss Mommy and Daddy? I hope so.”  
  
“He’s coming over in like, an hour, so we’d better finish packing,” Dean said, grabbing more clothes from the dresser.  
  
Sam sighed and nodded, laying Dylan down on the bed to grab his own bag.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam opened up the door to let Michael in, flashing a quick smile before going back over to the counter.  
  
“Hey Sam, what’s going on?” Michael asked, closing the porch door behind him. “How’s it going?”  
  
“Fine,” Sam answered as he finished trying to write out their cell phone numbers. “It’s with my left hand, so it’s still a little messy.”  
  
Michael walked over and glanced down at the piece of paper and shrugged. “It’s fine, I can read it. Where’s Dean?”  
  
“Finishing packing,” Sam answered, deciding to leave out the fact that Dean was currently filling a duffel bag with Latin texts and weapons. “Listen Mike, thanks so much for doing this. Especially on short notice; we would’ve brought Dylan with us, if we could have.”  
  
Michael nodded, sitting down at the dining table. “It’s fine. Paula’s out of town for a couple days anyway, I didn’t really have much else to do. So where is the baby?”  
  
“Right here,” Dean said, walking out of the bedroom with the duffel bags in hand, Dylan crawling on the floor towards Sam and Michael.   
  
“He’s crawling now?” Michael asked, dropping down from his chair to get on his hands and knees with Dylan. “Hi, Dylan, where you going buddy?”  
  
Dylan giggled and reached up to pull on one of Michael’s curls, hitting his other hand against the floor.  
  
“Did you give him our numbers?” Dean asked quietly, looking up at Sam.  
  
Sam nodded and looked down, smiling sadly at Dylan. “I don’t want to leave him,” he murmured, meeting Dean’s eyes again.  
  
“I know,” Dean said, leaning up to give Sam a quick kiss. “It’ll be okay. Safer.” He turned back to Michael and Dylan. “Okay Mike, it’s probably going to take a couple days each way and I’m not sure how long it’ll take us while we’re there…” he trailed off and looked up at Sam. “A week, at the most. We’ll call, if it’s going to be longer. God, this is such a huge favour you’re doing for us, thank you. We owe you big time.”  
  
Michael nodded and reached out, tickling Dylan’s stomach before lifting him up a bit. “I can like, leave, right?”  
  
“As long as you take him with you,” Sam said quickly as Dean just nodded.  
  
Michael smiled and nodded, standing up. “Don’t worry, Sam, I’m not going to leave him.”  
  
Dean glanced down at his watch and nudged Sam. “We’d better hurry up if we’re going to get anywhere today.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Okay, since-- since he’s crawling, you have to keep your eyes on him at like, all times.”  
  
“Sam,” Dean said softly, shaking his head.  
  
“Be careful when he bathes and he will eat the yucky vegetables, you just have to do make the train noises first,” Sam continued on quickly. “Make sure-- check on him in the night. Make sure he doesn’t get a fever, he had one once when he was a baby.” He frowned. “Well a-- a younger baby.”  
  
“Sam,” Dean said again, rubbing Sam’s back comfortingly. “He can handle this.”  
  
“Well maybe I can’t,” Sam snapped. He leaned down and picked Dylan up, holding him close. “Mommy and Daddy are just going away for a few days, Dyl, okay? We’ll come back though, I promise. I promise.”  
  
Michael sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets, not exactly sure what he was supposed to do, or say. “Do you guys like, want to be alone?”  
  
“We’re fine,” Dean assured him, giving Dylan a kiss. “Sam, give the kid a break. We have to leave him eventually you know, I am not raising some kid who cries every time he’s away from us for five minutes.”  
  
“Dean, shut up,” Sam said, rubbing Dylan’s back softly, giving him a bunch of quick kisses. “Michael, if he does anything; talks or walks or _anything_ , call us. Actually, call us anyway. Everyday. And if you can’t get through to us the first time, call again.”  
  
Dean began laughing to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “My god. Sam, he’s going to be fine. Now go get in the car, I handle everything else.”  
  
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and held Dylan a bit closer. “I love you, Dylan, never forget that. Michael, tell him everyday how much his parents love him.”  
  
“Is it just me, or is he overreacting?” Michael asked, leaning in to Dean.  
  
“He’s overreacting,” Dean nodded. “Now go, Sam, get in the car.”  
  
“Bye bye, Dylan,” Sam said quietly, giving him another kiss. “Bye bye. Be a good boy. Bye.” He handed Dylan over to Dean, waving at him. “Bye bye. Mommy loves you. Bye.”  
  
“Sam!” Dean cried. “My god. Now take a bag and get in the car.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed one of the duffel bags, going over to the porch door. “Bye Dylan!” he said loudly, waving at him. He turned and walked out of the house slowly.  
  
“He’s going to be okay, right?” Michael asked. “I mean, should he stay here?”  
  
“He’ll be fine,” Dean assured him. “I’ll make sure he’s fine. So, I think Sam gave you a pretty nice speech there, but unlike him, I don’t think you’re stupid.”  
  
Michael grinned. “Well, thank you for that.”  
  
Dean grinned back. “He’s not that hard of a kid to take care of; he does like to go outside, so put him the stroller, or carry him…he’ll be fine.”  
  
Michael nodded. “I can do that.”   
  
“Okay, well, 911, I think you know the number, apparently Sam gave you our numbers, so you should be fine,” Dean finished.   
  
Michael nodded again. “I think so. So he’s still on the baby food right, the apple sauce looking stuff?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean answered. He gave Dylan a kiss and pulled his thumb out of his mouth, kissing him again. “He doesn’t have a soother and we don’t like it when he puts his thumb in his mouth, so just-- that’s really it, we don’t want him to suck his thumb.” He gave Dylan another kiss and handed Dylan off to Michael, smiling and waving at him. “Bye, Dylan, bye. Can you say ‘bye’ to Daddy?”  
  
Dylan shifted in Michael’s arms, bringing his fist up to his mouth.   
  
“Okay, Dylan, bye-bye.” Dean turned and grabbed his jacket and the other duffel bag, turning back around. “Have fun you two. And when Paula comes back, she’s free to stay here too, of course. But seriously, do it in my bed and I’ll kill you.”  
  
“Got it,” Michael smiled. “Hope your dad’s okay.”  
  
“I’m sure he will be,” Dean said. “Alright, talk to ya later.” He walked over to the porch door and walked outside, rolling his eyes when he saw Sam in the car, pouting. “Sam, you’re so weird.” He opened up the backdoor and threw his bag in, pulling his jacket on. He climbed into the driver’s seat and glanced at Sam.   
  
“We’re leaving him,” Sam said softly, picking at his jeans. “What if something happens? To us, or to him? This could be the last time we ever see our son.” He looked away from Dean, watching out the window.   
  
Dean thought for a moment before dropping his hand from the keys, reaching over to squeeze Sam’s leg reassuringly. “Okay come on, five more minutes.”  
  
Sam grinned and leaned over, giving Dean a quick kiss before he jumped out of the car, skipping both steps to go into the porch.  
  
Dean grinned and shook his head, before following Sam back into the house.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
“Are you tired yet?” Sam mumbled, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. “I’m getting tired.”  
  
“Yeah well, you’re not downing Starbucks every time we pass one,” Dean snapped, almost jittering in his seat from all the caffeine.  
  
Sam swallowed hard and shook his head, leaning against the window. “No, I’m not,” he said quietly, eyes darting back over to Dean for a second.  
  
“Shit, Sammy, I’m sorry,” Dean said as he willed himself to stop shaking. “Fuck. I’m sorry, I didn’t-- it’s just, it’s hard to remember all the time and--”  
  
“It’s okay,” Sam assured him, reaching over to pat Dean’s arm. “I’m fine. I don’t-- I’m not craving any Starbucks or anything.”  
  
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dean asked, glancing over at Sam.  
  
Sam nodded. “Just tired. Cranky. Kind of wishing I hadn’t gone all addict so I’d be able to have some coffee now, but oh well.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean breathed. “Oh well.” They drove in silence for the next few minutes, Dean bobbing his head lightly to the music on the radio. “We can stop,” Dean offered finally. “I kind of wanna get some sleep. We’ll keep on keeping on tomorrow.”  
  
“It’s going to take forever to get there,” Sam groaned, hitting his head lightly against the window. “This country is like, never ending. Where are we now, anyway? What state are we in?”  
  
“Sammy, we’re only in Arizona,” Dean answered. “We’ve only been driving for six hours.”  
  
“Oh god,” Sam groaned again. “Dean, we can’t do this. I’m not-- there’s still more than a day of driving ahead of us, this is insanity.”  
  
“Maybe we should’ve flown,” Dean suggested, taking an off-ramp. “See Sammy, that sign says ‘motel’. We’ll rest up, rest up really well and then we’ll just drive and drive until we get there.”  
  
“Dean, you can’t stay awake for that long,” Sam pointed out. “There’s the next road,” he said, pointing out into the night. “I can’t believe of all the states Dad could’ve been in, it had to be one directly on the other side of the country. He couldn’t’ve been in friggin’ Arizona?”  
  
“That’d be too easy,” Dean murmured. “and when has Dad ever asked us to do anything easy?” He pulled to a stop at the red light, leaning forward in his seat to see if anything was actually coming, which of course, it wasn’t.   
  
“I wonder if Dylan’s sleeping well,” Sam murmured, right hand out in front of him, trying to flex his fingers. He brought his hand up, examining it closely.   
  
Dean watched Sam out of the corner of his eye, nodding dumbly. “I’m sure he’s fine.” He reached over and grasped onto Sam’s hand, pushing it down away from Sam’s face. “Don’t do that, Sam.”  
  
“Why not?” Sam asked, snatching his hand out of Dean’s.  
  
“Because it makes me feel bad,” Dean admitted.  
  
Sam shrugged. “It doesn’t make me feel bad, why should it make you feel bad?”  
  
“Because it was my fault,” Dean muttered, pulling into the motel parking lot. “Now come on, you go get the room, I’ll get the bags.”  
  
Sam yawned and nodded, practically stumbling out of the car as he patted his pocket for his wallet. “Wait, Dean--” he turned around and was faced with Dean’s wallet, shoved in his face. “Thanks.” He grabbed the wallet and walked up to the lobby, trying not to laugh when he saw the guy with bug-eyes sitting behind the counter. “Can I get a room, please?”  
  
“Two queens or a king?” the guy asked lamely, not even looking up from his television.  
  
“King, please,” Sam asked, glancing back at Dean.  
  
The guy dropped a key on the counter and sat there with his hand open, waiting.   
  
Sam opened Dean’s wallet and grabbed a couple bills, handing it to the guy. He half-smiled and grabbed the key, nodding. “Okay then.”  
  
“Whatever,” the guy nodded. “Bye.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and walked back outside, waving Dean over. “Six,” he said, tossing Dean’s wallet over to him, laughing loudly when Dean had to drop one of their bags to grab the wallet, which he still missed. “God, Dean.” He walked over and grabbed Dean’s wallet, shoving it in his pocket. He led Dean over to the room and unlocked it, walking in.   
  
“I think I’m going to die,” Dean groaned, yawning loudly as he dropped their bags on the floor. He toed off his boots and shrugged off his jacket. He quickly undid his jeans and simply stepped out of them, leaving everything in a pile on the floor. “Come on, Sam, I’m sleepy.” He walked over to the large bed and climbed in, closing his eyes instantly.  
  
Sam laughed softly and shrugged off his own jacket, laying it down on the table. He reached down and untied his sneakers, pulling them off. He took off his jeans and walked over to the bed, climbing in alongside Dean. “Are you asleep?” he asked softly, curling up behind Dean. His only answer was Dean’s snoring.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean thanked God when he finally saw the sign for the Ingram Motel and recognized John’s truck in the parking lot. “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered, nudging Sam with his elbow.  
  
Sam groaned and his eyes flickered open. “Ingram Motel,” he breathed, smiling to himself. The second the car stopped, Sam jumped out and ran into the lobby, smiling at the young man sitting behind the desk. “Uh, hi, yeah.”  
  
“You want a room?” the man asked.  
  
Sam shook his head. “Actually, no. Um, my father-- _our_ father, actually,” he said, glancing back to Dean, “he called us and said he was staying here, but we’re not sure what his room number is. Can you tell us?”  
  
The man thought about it for a second, studying Sam, then leaning to study Dean and the car outside. “Um, what’s he look like?”  
  
“Well, he’s the guy that drove that truck,” Sam said, pointing out into the parking lot. “Beard, dark hair, some grey, looks a lot younger than he is.”  
  
The man thought for a moment, before nodding. “Yeah, sure, okay. Um, how do I know you’re not going to like, go kill him?”  
  
Sam smiled. “Well, you don’t. But if we kill him, we promise to come right back out and tell you, so you can call the police. Please, when he called, I think he was hurt.”  
  
“More like drunk,” the man muttered. “I mean, no offence, but the way he stumbled in last night, hand on the wall to make sure he didn’t fall over.”  
  
Sam frowned. “Just tell me the room number.”  
  
“Fourteen,” the man nodded.   
  
Sam nodded his thanks and dashed out of the motel, calling over to Dean.  
  
Dean jogged behind Sam, following him to room fourteen. He banged on the door, waiting for John’s response. “Dad? Dad, open up, it’s us.”  
  
“It’s open,” John said, voice weak and upset.  
  
Dean and Sam both frowned at each other before Dean pushed open the door. “Dad, what’s going on?” Dean asked, stepping towards their father, who was sitting on the bed, head in his hands. “Are you okay?” He and Sam both walked over in front of John, Sam crouching, Dean grabbing a chair to sit on. “Dad, what’s wrong?”  
  
John lifted his head and opened his eyes, the pupils and iris milky, his eyes completely white.  
  
“Dad?” Sam asked in shock, leaning forward. “Dad, what happened? What the hell happened?”  
  
“Demon,” John mumbled, closing his eyes again.   
  
“A demon made you blind?” Dean asked. “What demon? Dad, how are we supposed to stop it? Who conjured it?”  
  
John shook his head. “We can’t fight him. Making a person blind is just one of his tricks. He’s a bad one, boys.”  
  
Sam shook his head in disbelief and Dean just stared at his father. “He took away your sight, Dad,” Dean pointed out. “I’m not leaving Virginia until you get it back.”  
 

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 25  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter  
**Summary:** When Dean and Sam are in Virgina, Michael's uncovered a secret in California  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

**nine months and fifteen days old**  
  
“What’s the demon, Dad?” Sam asked, holding the bottle of water up to John’s mouth, helping him drink. “I mean, do you know who it is?”  
  
“Shax,” John answered, reaching up to wipe at his mouth with his sleeve, clearing his throat.   
  
“Shax?” Dean repeated, leaning forward in his chair. “Wasn’t that guy on Charmed?”  
  
Sam stared at Dean in disbelief, shaking his head slowly. “Dean, don’t. Not now. Dad, other than your eyes, are you okay? Any other injuries?”  
  
John shook his head, coughing. “I guess he figured making me blind was enough.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said quietly, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “Fuck, I can’t believe this. I can’t-- we could’ve stopped it.”  
  
“Dean, it wasn’t our fault,” Sam snapped. “We got here as fast as we could have.”  
  
“We didn’t have to stop,” Dean said, meeting Sam’s eyes. “We didn’t. I could’ve driven for longer, I didn’t have to sleep.”  
  
“Dean, yes, you did,” Sam said, turning in his seat. “Dean, we couldn’t have gotten here any faster.”  
  
Dean groaned and pushed his chair back, standing up. “Yes, we could have!” he yelled. “I could’ve done _something_! I could’ve drank more coffee or--”  
  
“Why?” Sam yelled, standing up. “So you could’ve ended up like me? Dean, stop thinking like that! There was nothing we could’ve done!”  
  
“Would you two stop it?” John interrupted loudly. “Stop it. Sam’s right. Dean, you got here as fast as you could. You took as long as I expected. I just should’ve waited until you two got here before I tried to take on that demon.”  
  
“You think?” Dean muttered as he started to pace around the room.  
  
“Dean, stop it,” Sam said angrily, pushing Dean lightly. “Stop, okay? Maybe you should go outside, take a breather or something.”  
  
“Fine,” Dean snapped, pushing by Sam to storm outside, slamming the door behind.  
  
“Sorry, Dad,” Sam apologized, sitting down in Dean’s chair. “He-- he hasn’t slept in like a day, so he’s just a little cranky.”  
  
“Well, finding out your father’s blind is probably a little shocking,” John said, smiling weakly. “I understand. He’s okay.”  
  
Sam nodded. “We left Dylan at home, if-- if you didn’t know, since you can’t see.”  
  
John nodded. “I hope you at least got a baby sitter.”  
  
Sam smiled, laughing softly. “Yeah, we did. Paula’s husband, Michael. He’s staying at our place until we get back.” He studied John carefully, specifically, his eyes. He bit his lip, wondering what John could actually see, all white or all black.  
  
“You can ask, Sammy,” John said suddenly, interrupting Sam’s thoughts. “What are you thinking?”  
  
Sam blushed and shook his head. “N-- nothing. I’m just being nosy, is all.” He studied John a bit more, before finally deciding to ask. “Is it all white or dark? What you see.”  
  
John shrugged. “It’s just…nothing. Dark, I guess.”  
  
Sam nodded. “The guy in the lobby said you came stumbling in last night, like you were drunk, holding yourself up with the wall. You weren’t drunk, you just couldn’t see, could you?”  
  
John shook his head, folding his hands on his lap.   
  
“How’d you get here then?” Sam asked. “If you couldn’t see, you couldn’t drive. How’d the truck get back here?”  
  
“I got it towed here,” John answered, dropping his head. “After I played around with my cell phone, trying to get the operator. I knew where I was. They brought the truck here, drove me too.”  
  
“They didn’t ask any questions?” Sam asked in surprise. “About how a blind man got himself and his truck out in the middle of the nowhere?”  
  
“Sam, stop asking so many questions,” John snapped. “It doesn’t concern you.”  
  
“My father was attacked by a demon and _blinded_ and it doesn’t concern me?” Sam cried, standing up again. “I’m not twelve anymore, Dad, you can’t hide things from me anymore! Dean and I drove across the country to come help you! I deserve some answers!”  
  
“Nobody asked any questions, okay, Sam?” John yelled. “Nobody! Because nobody towed me here, nobody had to see me like this. I was attacked _here_. The goddamn thing followed me here, along with the person who conjured him. It was my own damn fault, I didn’t do more to make sure it couldn’t follow me. Hell, it’s my own goddamn fault I went out there without you two.”  
  
Sam frowned and sat back down, reaching out to his father, who just jerked away. “You could’ve said. Dad, we can’t control what those things do all the time. It’s not your fault this happened. If you couldn’t stop it, you couldn’t stop it. The question is, can we reverse it? Can we get your vision back?”  
  
John shrugged. “I have no idea. Only if the person who conjured it commands Shax to do it.”  
  
“What else can he do?” Sam asked, looking up when the room door opened and Dean slipped back in. “Shax, I mean, not the conjurer.”  
  
“He’s like a dog, like a pet,” John began, looking up when he felt the mattress dip beside him as Dean sat down. “He does whatever the person who conjured him tells him. Makes a person blind, deaf, dumb. Steals anything the conjurer asks. Faithful and obedient.”  
  
“Great,” Dean muttered, shaking his head. “What do we do? I mean, we have to take on the demon _and_ the guy who conjured it, or else he’ll just bring him back and make him do worse.”  
  
“Is that it?” Sam asked, reaching out to touch John’s knee so he knew that Sam was talking to him.   
  
“You can call Bobby,” John replied. “He knows more about these things than any of us.”  
  
Sam nodded and grabbed his cell phone.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Michael leaned down and laid Dylan down in the crib, grabbing his stuffed elephant, dropping it in beside him. “You gotta get some sleep, Dylan, it’s your nap time.” He leaned against the crib, watching Dylan carefully. “If your parents come back and ask, I’m going to have to tell them you didn’t sleep.” Michael sighed and reached in, rubbing Dylan’s stomach lightly. “I’m going to leave now, Dylan, I’m going out into the living room. So you’re going to pretty bored all alone down here if you’re not sleeping.” He stepped away from the crib, almost to the door before Dylan started to cry. Michael sighed and leaned against the wall, shaking his head. “Okay, fine.” He walked back over and lifted Dylan out of the crib.  
  
Dylan hiccuped and sighed, reaching up to grab at Michael’s shirt. He stopped crying and squirmed in Michael’s arms, kicking his feet.  
  
“What do you want?” Michael murmured, walking out of the nursery and down the hall. “You’re not still hungry, are you? I hope not.” He began pacing around the living room, watching out the window. Michael turned around and noticed a door he hadn’t paid any attention to before: Sam and Dean’s bedroom. “Is that Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom?’ Michael asked, walking over to the door. He tried the knob and was a little surprised to find it open. He opened the door and peered in, frowning. “Not much in here,” he observed, nodding. “Your parents are a little weird, aren’t they, Dylan?” He flicked on the lights and walked in, looking around. With only a bed, dresser and nightstand, Michael’s attention went to a couple pictures hanging on the wall. “Who are they, Dylan? Who’s that? That’s you.” He glanced down at Dylan, who was finally asleep. “Thank god,” he muttered. He turned to leave but stubbed his toe on something under the bed. “Christ!” he cried, almost falling down before he steadied himself. He quickly checked on Dylan and sighed in relief when he realized he was still asleep.   
  
Michael laid Dylan down gently on the bed, towards the middle, before he crouched down, looking under the bed. The edge of a box was sticking out from under the bed and instead of pushing it back under, Michael pulled it out. “You’re not going to say anything, are you Dylan?” he asked, looking up at him. He examined the box, that had nothing written on it, no way for him to know what was inside. He opened it up and began looking through it. A picture, of a kid and teenager and a man Michael recognized as John. Michael turned the picture over. “Sammy’s tenth birthday. Hmm.” He put the picture back in and pulled out another one, of one young boy holding a baby, grinning at the camera. “August thirteenth, 1983.” Michael turned the picture back over and studied the two boys. “Sam and Dean,” he said softly. “God, how long have they known each other?” He dropped the picture back in and began looking through the other ones. He pulled out what he guessed was the most recent, Sam looked about sixteen, staring at the camera, arms crossed. Dean was grinning and had his arm around Sam’s shoulders, giving the thumbs up. Michael rolled his eyes, smiling as he checked the back. “Sam’s sixteenth birthday.”   
  
Michael frowned and dropped the picture back in, quickly looking at each and every one. All of them were of the Winchesters, from when Sam was a baby to when he didn’t look much different from now. Finally, Michael got to the last picture in the box and he pulled it out. A blonde woman, holding a tiny baby and John, Dean sitting on his lap, in a hospital room. Michael turned over the picture and opened his mouth slightly. “Mary, John, Dean and Sam, seven hours old.” His eyes opened wide and he read the last part over and over, making sure it said what he thought it said. “Seven hours old. Seven hours old? Why would--” Michael stopped talking and pushed himself up, looking at Dylan. He swallowed hard and dropped the picture back in the box, closing it before shoving it back under the bed. He pushed himself up and lifted Dylan up, hurrying out of the bedroom, going down to Dylan’s nursery. He laid him carefully in the crib and rushed out of the nursery.  
  
“They’re brothers,” Michael muttered, shaking his head. “They can’t be. They have a baby. They have sex.” He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head again. “How did they adopt a baby if they’re brothers? How can-- John knows. God, their father knows.” He began pacing around, one hand up by his mouth as he kept shaking his head. “I can’t believe this. They’re _brothers_.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam shut off his phone and shoved it in his pocket before sitting back down. “Apparently, Shax only obeys who conjured him when he’s a magic triangle, or something. Bobby thinks that Shax would have to be kept in a triangle at all times, because if he’s not, he’ll turn against the person who conjured him.”  
  
“So?” Dean asked, tapping his foot insistently, hands on his lap. “What’s your point?”  
  
“My point is that if we can get him out of the triangle, he might listen to what _we_ have to say,” Sam explained. “If we can get control, we can get Dad’s sight back and maybe we can get him to destroy the person who conjured him.”  
  
Dean snorted. “You’re talking like you wanna make friends with the son of a bitch, Sammy. It’s a demon, it’s not going to go against the person who conjured him. Okay? It’s not going to work. We’ll just-- exorcism or something.” He sighed as his cell phone began to ring and he dug it out of his pocket, turning it on. “Hello? Oh, hi Michael, what’s going-- Michael, calm down, what’s wrong?”  
  
Sam’s eyes opened wide. “Something’s wrong? With Dylan? What’s going on?”  
  
Dean brought his finger up to his mouth, signaling Sam to quiet down. “Uh…Michael, I don’t know why you would think that, but it’s not true. We’re not…like that.”  
  
Sam frowned and reached over, snatching the phone out of Dean’s hands. “Michael, what’s going on?”  
  
“You’re brothers!” Michael cried. “You and Dean are brothers!”  
  
Sam’s eyes opened wide again and he dropped the phone to the phone, reaching up to cover his mouth.  
  
“What’s going on?” John asked, lifting his head from his hands. “Sam? Dean?”  
  
“He knows,” Sam said in disbelief, shaking his head. “He knows. Oh my god, he knows.” Tears sprang to his eyes and he shook his head again, standing up. “Dean, he-- he--” Sam turned around and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. “Oh my god,” Sam said softly, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he began to pace back and forth. “He knows. Michael knows. Fuck! Fuck!”  
  
“Dean, what’s going on?” John demanded.   
  
Dean crouched down and grabbed the cell phone, handing it to John. “Here, let Michael tell you.” He brushed past John and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.  
  
“Michael, this is John,” John began, “what’s going on?”  
  
“You’re letting your sons be fuck buddies, that’s what’s going on,” Michael snapped. “You’re letting them raise a child together! How can you do that? It’s disgusting.”  
  
John let out a shaky breath and reached up to rub at his face. “How’d you find out?”  
  
“I saw pictures,” Michael said.  
  
John frowned. “Pictures of them…together?” he asked carefully.  
  
“God, no!” Michael cried. “Pictures of the whole family together, the day Sam was born.”  
  
“I see,” John said, nodding. “If I told you that Mary and Sam were family friends and Dean and I were just visiting, would you believe me?”  
  
“No!” Michael exclaimed. “I wouldn’t.”  
  
“Sam, you have to calm down,” Dean said, his hands on Sam’s arms, trying to rub them comfortingly, but Sam kept moving. “Sam, shh, it’s going to be okay.”  
  
Sam shook his head and reached up to rub at his face as he trembled in Dean’s hands. “Dean, he knows,” he said quietly, tears filling his eyes. “Michael knows and he’s going to tell and they’ll take Dylan away from us!” He wrapped an arm around Dean’s neck, burying his face as much as he could. “Dean, they’ll split us apart. They won’t let us see him again, or each other.”  
  
Dean swallowed hard and nodded, pulling Sam in closer. “I’m not going to let that happen, Sammy. I’m going to protect us all, and I’ll kill Michael before I let him take Dylan and you away from me, okay? Understand?”  
  
Sam’s knees began to tremble and shake and he clutched even tighter onto Dean as they finally buckled and he could feel his stomach trying to crawl back up his throat. Sam pushed himself to the toilet and began throwing up the little food he had had to eat since they started driving, more tears springing to his eyes.   
  
Dean moved behind Sam and began rubbing his back gently, just trying to help calm him down. “It’s okay, Sammy, it’s okay, let it all out.”  
  
After minutes of Sam throwing up, the dry heaving started, cramping his stomach. But Sam just couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop picturing life alone without Dean and Dylan, Dylan being taken away from him.  
  
“I’ll do it, Sam, if you want me to,” Dean said, leaning against the wall. “I’ll kill Michael.”  
  
Sam shook his head and finally pulled his head away from the toilet, flushing it again. “You can’t kill him. Don’t kill him.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean agreed softly. “He’s going to tell, isn’t he?”  
  
Sam nodded, whimpering. He brought his knees up to his chest and began rocking back and forth, trying to stop his shaking. “Wouldn’t you? God, we can’t stop him. He’s going to tell.”  
  
Dean thought for a minute before leaning over, wrapping an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “I’m not going to let anybody take you and Dylan away from me, ever.”  
  
“How?” Sam asked, lifting his head. “How?” He hiccuped and groaned and dropped his head forward again.  
  
“We make a deal,” Dean said, sighing.  
  
“With who?” Sam asked. “With Michael? We have nothing he wants.”  
  
“Not Michael,” Dean replied. “The demon. Or-- the guy who conjured him, I guess. One of them.”  
  
Sam looked at Dean in confusion. “I don’t get how these two situations have anything to do with each other.”  
  
“Dad said the demon can make people dumb,” Dean began, moving closer to Sam on the bathroom floor. “The demon can make Michael dumb. We’ll tell the guy, he can do anything he wants to Michael, if he gives Dad his sight back.”  
  
Sam stared at Dean in disbelief before his empty stomach lurched and he went to the toilet again. “Dean, we can’t. We can’t. I can’t let another innocent person get hurt. Christopher was bad enough, I can’t do that again.”  
  
“Then how do _you_ plan on stopping him?” Dean demanded. “Tell me your great plan, Sam.”  
  
“Shut up, Dean,” Sam whined. “Leave me alone.”  
  
Suddenly, there was a light knock on the door, before it started to open.  
  
Dean moved out of the way and Sam looked up, eyes still watering, stomach sore. “What’d he say?” Dean asked, taking the phone from John.  
  
“He’s not going to tell,” John said flatly, turning around.  
  
Dean and Sam both looked up at John in disbelief and pushed themselves up, rushing out of the bathroom. “What do you mean he’s not going to tell?” Dean demanded. “What’d you do? What’d you say?”  
  
Sam shifted on his feet and crossed his arms, rocking back and forth. “What happened? What did you do? Dad, tell us what you did.”  
  
“I simply explained the situation to him,” John said, reaching up to scratch at his beard.  
  
“What situation?” Dean asked. “How the hell could that situation been explained to make it sound like we _aren’t_ brothers? What’d you do, threaten him?”  
  
“You were willing to kill him, Dean!” Sam pointed out.  
  
Dean glanced back at Sam, a helpless look on his face.  
  
“I told him you weren’t brothers, Dean,” John replied.  
  
“Bullshit,” Dean snapped. “He didn’t believe me when I told him that, why would he believe you?”  
  
“Because I told him the same crap story I told the police when you two got beat up,” John answered. “I told him, Sam’s father was a deadbeat who ran off when he was just a baby and his mother died. It’s almost true. The picture he found, of the four of us together the day Sam was born…I told him that was really Sam’s mother, but you and I were just visiting, Dean. That’s that.”  
  
Dean shook his head and felt his own tears start as he glanced back at Sam. “He doesn’t-- you’re lying, that’s not what you told him. What did you tell him?” he yelled, resisting the urge to hit something or someone.  
  
John stood up and reached out, feeling Dean’s arms, before pulling him into a hug. “Don’t worry about it, Dean. Please don’t worry about it. I took care of it.” He pulled back from Dean and felt for Sam, grabbing onto him, pulling him into a hug also.  
  
“What did you do to him?” Sam asked, looking over John’s shoulder at the bed. “What did you say to him?”  
  
“Just enough,” John answered. “Just enough to make him forget.”  
  
“What?” Sam shrieked, pulling backwards. “Dad, you can’t do things like that. Dad, you put a spell on him? When did you start doing spells?”  
  
“Since Bobby taught me them,” John snapped, stepping back. “You have no idea how handy it comes in when somebody sees something they shouldn’t.”  
  
“Dad, that’s black magic,” Dean said quietly. “That’s evil. Bad stuff. Why would Bobby teach you that?”  
  
“Because I made him,” John answered, carefully sitting back down on the bed.   
  
“I can’t believe this,” Dean groaned, shaking his head. “You just-- so what, you just said some words to him and he suddenly forgot? Dad, what happens if he remembers?”  
  
“He won’t,” John insisted. “Trust me. He won’t.”  
  
“Christ,” Sam muttered. “Dad, somebody found out that Dean and I are brothers! You can’t just say a spell and wrap it up in a neat little package like that! That’s not how it works.”  
  
“When I do things, it is,” John said. “He doesn’t have any clue why he called. I told him he was asking what Dylan would should wear when he takes him outside.”  
  
“Oh my god,” Dean whispered, staring at his father in shock. “Dad, what happened to you? You were never like this. You would never do anything like this before.”  
  
“I’m not letting anyone take my grandson away,” John explained. “I’m not letting them send you two to jail. You’d never recover. Dean, you’d lose your job. You’d both lose everything. You’d lose your son. That’s what you want? You’d rather have Dylan grow up in foster care than have me make Michael lose the last ten minutes of his memory?” He scoffed and shook his head. “Well I’m sorry, but I thought you two had better priorities than that.”  
  
Dean grabbed onto Sam’s arm and yanked, pulling him away from John towards the door. “We need a minute, Dad,” Dean said quickly, opening door, dragging Sam outside.  
  
“What the hell was that for?” Sam asked once the door was closed, voice quiet. “Dean, our father just--”  
  
“I know, I know,” Dean interrupted, waving his hand. “Our now blind father just did a spell to make sure Michael doesn’t remember we’re brothers. Truth be told, a little bit better than my plans of murdering him or bargaining with the demon, but only a little. I mean, it kind of works, doesn’t it?”  
  
“No, Dean! It doesn’t!” Sam protested. “At all! What if-- what if sometime, Michael remembers? And then he’ll start to ask questions about what made him forget? And what if Dad’s still lying to us? What he if like, threatened to kill Paula or something? We have no idea what Dad did, or said or anything. We have to get back, we have to take care of this.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Sammy, our father is in there right now, and he’s _blind_. As he can’t see. And you want to leave him here, alone, so we can go che--”  
  
Sam groaned and rolled his eyes right back. “Yes, so we can go check on our son and make sure Child Services hasn’t come to take him away.”  
  
“I told Dad I wasn’t leaving until he could see again,” Dean reminded him. “Sam, if Dad said he took care of it, then he took care of it. Call Michael if you want, say you’re just checking up on Dylan. You’ll be able to tell what he remembers and what he doesn’t.”  
  
“Fine,” Sam muttered, patting his pockets. He grabbed his phone and dialled Michael’s number, listening to it ring. “Hey, Michael, it’s Sam, how’s it going?” He swallowed hard and waited nervously for Michael to say that he knew they were brothers, but he didn’t. Sam smiled and nodded, sighing in relief. “Yeah, he’s not really big on naps, don’t worry about it. How-- how is he sleeping at night? That’s good, that’s great. Can I-- can I talk to him?”  
  
Dean grinned and stepped over to Sam, reaching up to ruffle his hair, kissing Sam’s cheek. “Told you.”  
  
Sam reached up to fix his hair and nodded, listening to Dylan babble quietly. “That’s great, Dill Pickle. Listen, Mommy and Daddy really love you and miss you and we’re going to be home in a couple days, okay? We love you. Say bye-bye, Dyl, say bye-bye.” He swallowed and nodded, listening to Michael. “Yeah, we should-- I don’t really know. Three days, maybe four; we know how long it’ll take to get back, so when we actually leave, we’ll call. Okay, alright. Bye.” Sam turned off his phone and dropped it back in his pocket.  
  
“So, I’m guessing he didn’t mention the whole, ‘You’re fucking your brother thing’, right?” Dean smirked.  
  
Sam shook his head. “Didn’t say anything about anything like that. Thank god.” He half-smiled and sighed, reaching up to scratch at his cheek.  
  
“I would’ve--” Dean began, before clearing his throat and starting again. “I would’ve hurt him. I would’ve done whatever I had to. Dylan’s my son and you’re my brother--”  
  
“Which is exactly what got us into this trouble in the first place,” Sam reminded him. “I mean, haven’t you ever thought about it?”  
  
“Thought about what?” Dean asked.  
  
“Like, how illegal and wrong what we’re doing is,” Sam answered. “We’re brothers that have sex.”  
  
“It’s more than that though, Sammy,” Dean said. “It’s more than sex. We love each other, right? That’s different. We’re both consenting adults, who never touched each other as minors…I don’t care what the law says about it, I’m not going to stop loving you.”  
  
Sam looked away from Dean, taking a deep breath. “We have to go help our father. Come on, let’s go get a game plan.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
“You found him once, you can find him again, right?” Dean asked. “How’d you find him the first time?”  
  
“I went to _her_ house,” John said, turning to look at where he thought Dean was.   
  
Dean turned to look at Sam. “He went to her house, Sam. Wait, it was a woman? Sam, it was a woman.”  
  
“I heard,” Sam replied. “Well, that does sound like the obvious plan. How’d you figure out whose house it was?”  
  
“Well, a certain influx of blind and deaf people at the hospital,” John answered. “Seven people. One doctor was involved in all the cases.”  
  
“Are you saying that a doctor conjured a demon to make people sick so she could help make them better?” Sam asked. “That’s sick.”  
  
“It does mean that she can give your sight back,” Dean pointed out. “If she can make the patients better, she can make you better. Right?”  
  
“So what’s the doctor’s name?” Sam asked.  
  
“Melody Byrn,” John replied. “She seemed sweet enough the first time I talked to her.”  
  
Sam thought for a moment, before glancing down at his watch. “She’s a doctor.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and lolled his head over at Sam. “ _Duh_ , Sammy.”  
  
“Shut up, Dean,” Sam muttered. “A doctor’s schedule is hell. She’s probably at the hospital now. Let’s go to her house.”  
  
“And do what?” Dean demanded.  
  
“Get the demon out of the triangle!” Sam exclaimed. “Christ, Dean, are you listening to us at all?”  
  
“Not particularly,” Dean admitted. “We need somebody to go the hospital, keep an eye on her.”  
  
“I can do it,” Sam suggested. “I mean, it can’t be Dad, obviously, he--”  
  
“Can’t keep an eye on anybody,” John interrupted, a smile on his face.  
  
Sam’s jaw dropped and he looked at his father, then Dean, before he started to laugh to himself. “Um, no, I was going to say, she knows who you are, but you have a point.”  
  
Dean started to laugh too, shaking his head.   
  
John smiled and nodded, reaching up to scratch at his forehead. “As do you, Sammy.”  
  
They finally stopped laughing and Sam cleared his throat, shaking his head. “I can say my hand is acting up or something, getting stiff lately. That should take awhile to diagnose, considering there’s nothing wrong with me.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes again. “Oh trust me, Sam, there’s a lot of things wrong with you, but none of them involve that hand.”  
  
Sam smacked Dean, practically shoving him off the bed. “Shut up. So yeah, you guys break into Melody’s house, get the demon out of the triangle.”  
  
“And how do we do that?” Dean asked. “Break the triangle, I mean.”  
  
“Make a hole in it,” Sam said simply. “ _Duh_.”  
  
“Shut up,” Dean muttered. “Fine, okay, let’s go. And what do we do when Melody comes back and her demon isn’t in her triangle?”  
  
“It won’t matter,” John said. “The demon won’t do anything once it’s out; well, not anything for her anyway.”  
  
“Dad, how’d she get it here?” Sam asked. “I mean, you said that she attacked you here, outside. There’s no triangle here.”  
  
John stood up and offered his arm out to Sam or Dean. “Come on, I’ll show you.”   
  
Dean stood up and took John’s arm, leading him carefully over to the door. He opened it up and helped John step outside, looking around. “You coming, Sam?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Sam said, standing up. He followed Dean and John outside, John telling Dean where to go.   
  
“Are we at the truck?” John asked as he stopped walking.  
  
Dean nodded, before he remembered John couldn’t see him. “Yeah.”  
  
John nodded. “Check out the back.”  
  
Dean let go of John’s arm and both he and Sam peered in the truck bed. A series of triangles drawn in a circle, with letters neither Sam or Dean were sure exactly what they meant. “She summoned the demon to your truck?” Dean asked in surprise.  
  
John nodded. “Thank god it was night time when it happened, it’d probably be quite the sight to see.”  
  
“Jesus,” Sam breathed, shaking his head. “Okay, let’s go, take me to the hospital now please.” He walked over to the Impala and climbed into the backseat, leaving Dean and John standing where they were.  
  
“Did he get in the truck?” John asked, reaching for Dean’s arm.  
  
Dean shook his head. “Uh, no. The car. He seems pretty friggin’ ready to head out, what about you?”  
  
“No, Dean, I’d like to remain blind for as long as I possibly can,” John said sarcastically. “We can go, I’m fine. You must be pretty tired though, right? We could wait, let you get some shut eye.”  
  
Dean thought about it for a minute, before shaking his head. He grasped onto John’s arm and began to lead him over to the Impala. “Nah, I’ll just sleep when I’m dead. Or when this is over. Which ever one comes first.”

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 26  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter  
**Summary:** While Sam's trying to keep an eye on the doctor, Dean learns very upsetting news while trying to help his father  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

**nine months and fifteen days old**  
  
“You sure about this?” Dean asked, leaning against the Impala, crossing his arms. “Do doctors wear name tags?”  
  
Sam shrugged, eyes down, staring at his sneakers. “Dad told me what she looked like. I can find her.”  
  
Dean nodded. “You don’t have to pretend to be a patient, you know. You can go in, pretend to be a--”  
  
“It’s fine,” Sam interrupted, finally looking up. “I can do it, s’no problem.”  
  
Dean nodded again, looking around the parking lot. “Okay then.” He leaned up to give Sam a kiss but Sam just ducked his head and Dean’s lips brushed, just barely, against Sam’s cheek.  
  
Sam blushed and turned away, staring out at some random piece of sky. “I-- just can’t right now, Dean. Sorry.”  
  
Dean bit his lip and leaned up again, but Sam ducked again. Dean stepped back from Sam, studying him. “We’re talking about this, when we get home,” Dean said, moving to try and get Sam to look at him. Finally, he just reached up and cupped Sam’s cheek, making him look at him. “Sam. Get it?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He took a deep breath then shook his head, trying to fix his hair. “I should get-- go in there.” He glanced down , looking inside the car at their father. “Take care of him. W-- watch out for him. And please, _please_ don’t get yourself hurt too.”  
  
Dean sighed. “I’ll do my best, as usual.” He leaned up again but Sam just shook his head.  
  
“I _can’t_ ,” Sam said again, stepping back from Dean. “Not now. I just need time to think. I just-- call me when you’re done or something. If she leaves, I’ll call you.” He half-smiled and started walking away, not glancing back.  
  
Dean watched Sam until he was in the hospital and stayed outside the car, leaning against the door, trying to get his thoughts in order and calm down before he got back in the car.   
  
“What’s going on?” John asked, cringing when Dean slammed the car door. “Is everything okay?”  
  
“Fucking peachy keen,” Dean muttered, pulling out of his parking space. “It’s great. Apparently, Sam’s decided that _now_ is the best time for him to jump on the ‘we’re brothers, it’s wrong’ bandwagon.” He shook his head. “Fuck,” he gritted, pulling to a stop in front of the stop sign leaving the parking lot. “Left or right, Dad?”  
  
“Left,” John said, pointing off in that direction.  
  
Dean nodded and pressed down on the gas a bit too hard pulling out onto the road, squealing the tires. “Don’t you think Sam should’ve brought this up _before_ we had a son?”  
  
John shook his head, tired of this conversation already. “It’s not my place to talk about this, Dean.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and pulled to a stop at another stop sign. “Okay, Dad, we’re at four-way stop. Do you remember which way we turn now?”  
  
John swallowed and thought about it for a moment. “Is there a big green house?”  
  
“Uh yeah, if I turn right, we’ll go past one,” Dean answered, looking around outside the car. “Did you drive by it on the way?”  
  
“Yeah,” John nodded, reaching out in front of him to crack his knuckles.   
  
Dean looked both ways and started driving again, turning right to drive pass the green house that was practically a mansion. “And what do you mean that it’s not your place to talk about this? You’re our father. If Sammy was some-- some woman you’d be on _her_ about leading me on.”  
  
John groaned. “Dean, just because right now, I’m blind, doesn’t mean you can make me talk about all this with you. I don’t like to talk about this with you.”  
  
“Left or straight?” Dean asked, pulling to another stop.   
  
“Straight,” John answered.  
  
“You know, Dad,” Dean began, pressing down on the gas, “one day, I’m going to sit you down and we’re going to talk about this. About everything. You need to know, you deserve to know.”  
  
“What if I don’t want to know?” John snapped. “Dean, I don’t-- you’re lucky I didn’t disown you two.”  
  
Dean swallowed hard and nodded, reaching over to pat John’s knee so he knew he was listening. “I know,” he said quietly, barely audible. “I know,” he said again, louder, clearing his throat.  
  
John could feel the car slowing down and he just shook his head. “Straight. It’s straight for awhile, she lives pretty well out in the middle of nowhere.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow and sped up again. “Convenient. Nobody around to hear us scream.”  
  
John chuckled softly and shook his head, before sighing. “Yeah.” He swallowed hard and reached out to Dean, hoping to hell it was actually Dean’s leg he was hitting.  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked, glancing towards his father.  
  
“I wouldn’t,” John said simply, pulling his hand back.  
  
“Wouldn’t what?” Dean asked, before he yawned, the major lack of sleep finally hitting him.  
  
“Disown you,” John answered. “I wouldn’t.”  
  
Dean smiled gratefully, nodding. “Yeah, I-- I figured. Thank you, for that. But Dad-- I just, what if Sam decides to leave me or something?”  
  
“God,” John muttered, shaking his head. “Dean, Sam is not going to leave you. Okay? He’s not going to leave you ‘cause he’s not going to leave Dylan and he’s not going to take him away from you. He’s just upset about Michael, which, actually, since you wanna talk about this, I’m a little surprised that _you’re_ not more upset.”  
  
“Well--” Dean began, but John just cut him off.  
  
“Dean, Sam is your brother,” John continued on, “please don’t forget that. You know him, probably better than anyone. You practically raised him and now you’re practically married. You know he’s not going to leave you. Now can we _please_ stop talking about this? I think there are more pressing issues at hand.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Dean murmured, wondering if they had passed Melody’s house, as it seemed they were currently in the middle of nowhere. “Uh, Dad…there’s not a lot of houses out here, did we miss it?”  
  
“I don’t think so,” John answered. “The road is pretty long--”  
  
“The road is long,” Dean interrupted, breaking out into song, “with many a winding turn. That leads us to who knows where, who knows when. But I'm strong, strong enough to carry him.” He reached over and patted John’s leg. “Come on, Dad. You know you wanna.”  
  
“He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother,” John finished, shaking his head.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam walked over to the desk, trying to scan the swarm of doctors and patients for someone who looked like the woman John described. “Uh, hi, is there-- is there any doctor I can see please?”  
  
“What’s wrong with you?” the woman at the desk asked, not even looking up.  
  
“It’s my hand,” Sam said, lifting up his right hand. “I broke it, but that was awhile ago and I thought it had healed, but it’s driving me crazy.”  
  
The receptionist finally looked up, but looked right by him. “Excuse me, Doctor Ross, can you see this young man?”  
  
Doctor Ross stopped walking and turned to study Sam. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“My hand,” Sam answered, offering it to the doctor. “I broke it awhile ago, but it’s been so stiff lately and it hurts in the morning.”  
  
“What’s your name?” Doctor Ross asked.  
  
Sam thought for a second, not really sure what he was supposed to say. “Sam…Winchester,” he answered finally.  
  
“Are you on any painkillers?” Doctor Ross asked, leading Sam away from the desk, taking him into a exam room, closing the curtain about halfway.   
  
Sam shook his head and sat down on the bed. “I know, it sounds really stupid, but I just-- I kept thinking maybe it’s infected? Or something. Is that possible? For it to get infected?”  
  
Doctor Ross leaned down a bit and picked up Sam’s hand, studying it closely. “How was it broken?”  
  
“It was stomped on,” Sam replied quietly. “I got beat up and the guy stomped on my hand.”  
  
Doctor Ross nodded, taking a deep breath. “Can you flex your fingers for me please?”  
  
Sam looked up at Doctor Ross and shook his head. “I don’t think so. I haven’t been able to move my fingers since they were broken.”  
  
“You never got surgery, or any type of therapy?” Ross asked surprised.  
  
Sam shook his head. “No. I never really wanted it. I don’t really know what the thinking was behind it. I guess I was a little afraid that surgery could just make it worse.”  
  
Doctor Ross frowned and studied Sam’s hand a bit more. He bent Sam’s fingers himself, watching Sam’s reaction, watching how the fingers moved back. “Do they hurt when I do that?”  
  
Sam shook his head again. “No, not really. Achy, not hurt…y.”  
  
“And stiff in the morning?” Doctor Ross asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “It’s like--” he thought for a moment, not really sure what his fingers would have to be to keep in the hospital for as long as possible. “Stiff in the morning, but achy by the time I go to bed. Does that sound normal?”  
  
“For someone with your condition, yes,” Doctor Ross nodded. “They’re stiff in the morning from the lack of use at night. They’re achy in the night from too much use during the day.”  
  
“What can I do to fix it?” Sam asked, shifting on the bed. “I mean, so it’s not really some deeper issue?”  
  
Doctor Ross shook his head. “What do you use your hand for these days, Sam?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Well, not a lot, really. I was right-handed, before it happened, so most stuff I do with my left now. I have a son, so most of the stuff I do involves lifting him, playing with him, feeding him.”  
  
“So nothing you’d be willing to give up or do less of?” Doctor Ross clarified.  
  
“Definitely no,” Sam answered quickly. “So what can you do?”  
  
“I’d suggest going to a drug store and getting some Tylenol Arthritis,” Doctor Ross answered.   
  
Sam frowned. “I have arthritis?”  
  
“Well, I’m not sure exactly,” Doctor Ross admitted, “but the symptoms do fit. I’m not saying Tylenol is going to help you move your fingers again, but it should help with the inflammation, which was caused when the bones broke. A pill a day should do.”  
  
Sam nodded, looking around the exam room. “Is there caffeine in Tylenol? I’m not supposed to have a lot of caffeine.”  
  
“Not in Tylenol,” Doctor Ross answered. “But what’s your problem with caffeine? Are you allergic?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “No, I uh, I overdosed on it, a few months ago.”  
  
“I see,” Doctor Ross said, nodding. “Well, Tylenol is just acetaminophen, no caffeine; I don’t see it being a problem.”  
  
“Okay,” Sam said, trying his best to plaster on a grateful smile. “Well, I’ll be sure to pick some up when I get home.” He stood up off the bed and nodded at Doctor Ross.  
  
“Is that everything?” Doctor Ross asked.  
  
Sam looked outside the curtain, eyes widening when he saw someone matching Melody’s description. “Ah, actually, what would it cost to get an x-ray around here?”  
  
“An x-ray?” Doctor Ross repeated. “Do you need an x-ray?”  
  
“Well, it’s just…” Sam trailed off, trying to keep his eyes on Melody outside the small exam room while trying to come up with an explanation. “The doctors never let me see my x-rays for my hand and I just-- I just want to see how screwed up my hand is exactly.” He put on his puppy-dog eyes, trying to smile. “Call it morbid curiosity, I guess.”  
  
Doctor Ross smiled sympathetically. “Well, if you’ll follow me, I’ll see what we can do.” He pulled back the curtain and led Sam down the hall.  
  
Sam kept glancing back, keeping his eyes on Melody as best he could. At the moment, she appeared to be busy with a young mother and her baby, and Sam sighed gratefully. “Let’s try and keep it that way,” he breathed.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean pulled to a stop in front of a house that looked like the one John had described. “Okay, I _think_ this is it. Hopefully.” He pocketed the keys and jumped out of the car, going around to the other side before John even had a chance to open the door. “I’ll get that Dad,” he murmured, opening the door. He reached in and grasped onto John’s arm, helping him out of the car. “It sounds like what you described.”  
  
John nodded. “Good. That’s good. If it’s somebody else’s place, you hide, I say I walked into the wrong house.”  
  
Dean grinned. “Alright, sounds like a plan. So do you know where she keeps him? God, it sounds like we’re talking about a dog.” He began walking slowly, leading John up to the door. “Okay, there’s a step.” He watched John step up, making sure he didn’t slip. “And another one. One more.” Dean looked around, making sure they were _really_ alone before he let go of John’s arm, grabbing that stupid lock-picking kit Sam had insisted he take. He glanced back at John, who was just standing there, eyes closed, unmoving. Dean shuffled a bit closer to the door, making sure if anyone could see them, they wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing.  
  
“What are you doing?” John asked quietly.  
  
“Unlocking the door,” Dean answered, before he pushed open the door. He stepped in before turning back around to help John in. “Step,” he said, moving out of the way for John to step in. Dean closed the door and turned back around, looking around the house. “It’s nice. If I didn’t know any better, I’d never guess she had a demon holed up in here to give her more patients. So where do you think it is? Where was it when you saw it?”  
  
“Attic,” John answered quietly. “I don’t think I’m going to be much help up there.”  
  
Dean snorted and smiled. “Yeah, well, me either. Sam should’ve came, he seemed to have some idea what the hell he was talking about. This was his idea, anyway.” He grasped onto John’s arm again and had one his other hand on the small of John’s back, helping him up the stairs. “Uh, Dad?”  
  
“Yeah?” John asked, feeling a bit like an invalid, barely able to make it up the stairs.  
  
“If this doesn’t work,” Dean began, before clearing his throat and starting again. “If this doesn’t work, what are you going to do? I mean, you can come to California with me and Sammy and you can live with us again.” He frowned and stopped walking, half-way up the stairs. “We only have two rooms, really, but I guess-- Dylan could sleep with us until he’s older and you could have the nursery, or--”  
  
“Dean, don’t do this,” John interrupted, turning his head towards Dean. “I’m your father, you’re my son and it’s not the other way around. You don’t have to take care of your old man.”  
  
Dean sighed and continued up the stairs, looking around. “Where’s the entrance to the attic? Is it the ceiling, or is there a door?”  
  
“Go to the end of the hallway,” John directed as he began to feel along the walls, trying to lead Dean, instead of the other way around.   
  
“The door at the end of the hallway?” Dean asked, letting go of John’s arm, trying to let him get there on his own. “It goes up to the attic?”  
  
John nodded. “You know what you’re doing, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Break the triangle, get Shax out, save the day, go pick up Sammy. After that I plan on sleeping for a day.”  
  
John laughed softly. “Sounds good to me.” He stopped walking and leaned against the wall, feeling Dean walk by him. He heard the door open, a slight creak before Dean patted his shoulder.   
  
“I can do this,” Dean assured him. “Sammy’s not the only smart one in the family.” He took the first step gingerly, bouncing up and down lightly, trying to figure out how loud the stairs were going to be under his feet. He took another step, glancing back at his father. Dean stayed low, close to the wall, not sure where exactly the demon was. He finally peeked his head up, seeing the triangle on the ceiling. Standing directly beneath it, was a young looking man with blue hair, yellowish skin. Dean thought he looked like something out of his old X-Men comics. He glanced back at John, before going up the rest of the stairs.   
  
Shax turned to Dean quickly, studying him carefully. “You’re not Melody.”  
  
Dean shook his head, stepping towards the triangle. “You know, that Melody girl, I hear she’s a real bitch. Keeping you all confined in here.”  
  
Shax growled and stepped towards Dean, but he couldn’t get out from under the triangle.  
  
Dean smirked and looked around, grabbing a chair. “If you promise to help me, I’ll help you get out of here.”  
  
“Melody said I can’t help anybody but her,” Shax explained, sounding annoyed with Dean’s intrusion of his space.  
  
Dean climbed up on the chair and began hitting around the ceiling for loose boards. “I have the feeling you’ll change your mind once you’re out.” He finally found a loose board and glanced down at Shax, who was watching him intently. “At least promise not to kill me.”  
  
Shax growled again and tried to leave the triangle, but Dean hadn’t broken it yet.  
  
Dean pulled on the wood and the dropped it down to the floor; the triangle was broken. He hopped off the chair before quickly picking it up, as it was really his only weapon if Shax chose to attack.   
  
Shax jumped out of the triangle, right at Dean, but he calmed once he was actually out and he studied Dean carefully. “You’re a Winchester, aren’t you?”  
  
Dean grinned but still kept the chair up. “Uh, yeah, what’s it to you?”  
  
“You want me to help your father, or your son?” Shax asked as he began to pace around the attic.  
  
Dean’s grin quickly disappeared and he dropped the chair slightly. “What’s wrong with my son?”  
  
Shax shrugged. “Nothing…much. You won’t notice it for a couple more years yet. But if you ask nicely, I might be able to do something about it.”  
  
“Do something about what?” Dean demanded, dropping the chair to the floor. “There’s nothing wrong with my son. My son is perfect. Now fix my father before I get Melody to put you back in that fucking triangle.”  
  
“I can do that,” Shax said, glancing behind Dean down the stairs. “Is he going to come up or should I just do it from here?”  
  
“Don’t you dare go near him,” Dean snapped, stepping between Shax and the stairwell. “Give him back his sight. Now.”  
  
Shax rolled his eyes before closing them, raising his hands. The yellow drained from his face and the blue from his hair before a blinding white light shot out him, causing Dean to close his eyes and duck.   
  
Dean stayed down, breathing heavily before he straightened up, watching Shax carefully. “Dad?”  
  
John pressed his hands to his eyes, seeing spots. At least he was seeing _something_.  
  
“Dad?” Dean called again, glancing back.  
  
“He’s fine,” Shax snapped. “Now lemme guess, exorcism?”  
  
“Tell me what’s wrong with my son,” Dean demanded, stepping towards Shax. “Or you’ll be back in Hell in sixty seconds flat.”  
  
“I could kill you,” Shax pointed out, getting closer to Dean.  
  
“You won’t,” Dean stated. “Because my father down there, he knows the exorcism shit better than anybody; you touch me and you’re done. Now tell me what’s wrong with my son.”  
  
Shax grinned and stepped away from Dean as he began to pace around the attic. “Well, I wouldn’t say _wrong_. It really depends on who you ask. Would you say something’s wrong with your brother?”  
  
Dean shook his head furiously. “No. There’s nothing wrong with Sammy.”  
  
“Then you’d probably say there’s nothing wrong with-- Dylan, is it?” Shax smiled. “Except that he _really_ is his father’s son.”  
  
Dean frowned, not really sure if he understood. “He’s a psychic, like Sam. Is that it?”  
  
“Sam’s his _mother_ ,” Shax pointed out, “I said father.”  
  
Dean thought for a moment, shaking his head. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”  
  
“No, there isn’t,” Shax agreed, obviously enjoying toying with Dean.  
  
Dean stepped towards Shax, ready to shove him. “Then what the _fuck_ are you talking about?”  
  
“Rosier,” John interrupted, finally making it up the stairs. “He’s talking about Rosier.”  
  
Dean looked over at John slowly, eyes full of sadness. “Dylan’s not mine?” he asked softly in disbelief.   
  
Shax grinned and nodded at John. “You’re a lot smarter than people take you for, aren’t ya?”  
  
Dean swallowed hard and shook his head. “Dylan’s mine. He’s mine, okay? Not-- not that goddamn-- Rosier is not my son’s father.”  
  
“Dean, go outside,” John commanded, not even looking at Dean.  
  
Dean shook his head. “What is he? What is Dylan? What’s he going to turn into?” He grabbed onto Shax’s jacket and shook him. “Tell me, goddamnit!”  
  
John grabbed onto Dean and pulled him off Shax, looking at him. “Dean, no matter what this guy says, Dylan is yours.”  
  
“Tell me!” Dean screamed, swinging a fist at Shax, who just moved back.  
  
“Dean, go!” John yelled. “Get out of here! Let me handle this.”  
  
Dean shook his head furiously. “What can he do? Is he evil? Does he have powers? Just tell me, please just tell me. Just tell me.”  
  
Shax smirked and walked over to Dean, keeping his eyes on John. He leaned down, breathing in Dean’s ear. “Watch him closely.”  
  
Dean gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to move away from Shax, wanting to hear what else he had to say. “Just tell me what’s wrong with him.”  
  
“He’ll always have special…gifts,” Shax continued, “but it’s up to you to make sure he doesn’t use them the wrong way.”  
  
Dean swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“His father will be coming for him,” Shax replied. “If Dylan goes with him, say goodbye to your good little boy. For good. And that’s before he kills you.”  
  
Dean swallowed hard, searching his mind, trying to remember where he had heard something like that before.   
  
_“Protect your son, boys. I won’t be the only one coming for him now.”_  
  
“The demon,” Dean said softly. “He meant Rosier.” Dean pulled back and looked up at Shax. “How can you stop it?”  
  
“Dean, he can’t,” John said. “He wouldn’t, unless there was something in it for him. Don’t make a deal with him, you’ll give up more than you get.”  
  
“Dad, Dylan’s my son,” Dean said, looking over at John. “I’d do anything for him.” He looked back over at Shax. “What do you want in return?” Dean asked quietly.  
  
“Well, Dylan for myself, of course,” Shax answered. “Power like that, should be put to good use.”  
  
“No fucking way,” Dean said, shaking his head. “No way in hell I’m giving you my son. And how is that any different than Rosier taking him?”  
  
“You won’t die in the process,” Shax replied. “So do we have a deal?”  
  
Dean snorted in disbelief. “Go to hell. _Nobody_ is taking my son.” He turned away and stormed down the stairs. He ran down the hall then the stairs, opening the front door. It slammed behind him and he ran over to the car, quickly climbing in. He grabbed his cell phone and quickly dialled Sam’s number, bouncing his knee up and down while it rang.  
  
“Sorry,” Sam apologized, smiling politely at Doctor Ross. “Dean? What’s going on?”  
  
“We’re coming to get you,” Dean said quickly. “Be ready, because I’m not waiting.”  
  
“Dean, what’s wrong?” Sam asked. “Is Dad okay?”  
  
“He’s fine!” Dean snapped. “It’s fine, everybody’s fine. Better.”  
  
Sam stood up and walked away from Doctor Ross, halfway out of the room. “Dean, you’re scaring me. What’s going on? What happened?”  
  
“I can’t--” Dean stopped talking when John came storming out of the house. “I can’t tell you, Sam. Just be ready, ‘cause we’re going to be there.” He turned off his phone and dropped it on the dashboard, turning on the ignition. “What’d you do?”  
  
John didn’t say anything as he climbed in the car.   
  
Dean shrugged and squealed the tires out of the driveway, quickly getting on the road. “Exorcism?”  
  
“Dean, you can’t listen to what a demon says,” John said, not answering Dean’s question.  
  
Dean pressed down on the gas and bit his lip, a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “Dylan is _mine_ , I don’t care what that motherfucker says.”  
  
“He could be right though,” John said quietly.   
  
Dean shook his head. “I don’t care. I don’t care if Dylan has powers, I don’t care if Rosier comes for him. We can handle it. Sam’s a goddamn _psychic_ , I think I can handle my son being different too. And if that fucker Rosier comes-- I got rid of him once, I can do it again.”  
  
John nodded sharply. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad you’re handling this well.”  
  
Dean squeezed his eyes shut briefly before he pulled off the road, not even turning off the engine before he jumped out of the car. He screamed loudly at the top of his lungs before he began kicking at the tires, wishing he had a baseball bat to hit the car with. “Fuck!” he screamed. “Fuck!”  
  
John climbed out of the car and leaned against the roof, watching Dean.   
  
“Handling this well?” Dean repeated. “Handling this well? I am _not_ handling this well! Dylan’s not mine, Dad! Do you get that?”  
  
John took a step towards Dean, but Dean just shook his head.  
  
“I raised him!” Dean screamed. “I raised him! I held him when he was born, I fed him! And he’s not mine! He’s some fucking fallen angel’s! A demon’s! Dylan’s not my son!” He finally stopped kicking the tires before he let out a broken cry, falling against the car. “Dylan’s not my son.” He wiped at his eyes and slid down to the ground, leaning against the tire. “He’s not my son.” He brought his knees up to his chest. “I’m not his father. I’m not _anybody’s_ father. I’m not a father.”  
  
John walked slowly over to the other side of car, before he sat down beside Dean, leaning against the car. “Dean, Dylan belongs to _you_. Rosier-- Rosier may be his father _biologically_ , but that doesn’t change what Dylan is to you.” He wrapped his arm around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him in. “Dylan’s going to call _you_ Daddy, not him.”  
  
Dean nodded and curled into John, still crying softly.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam rolled over and studied Dean carefully, listening to the sounds of John’s shower through the thin walls. “Dean, are you awake?”  
  
Dean groaned and rolled over, almost falling off the bed. “What?” he asked, opening his eyes.  
  
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, shuffling closer to the edge of his bed. “When you called-- what was going on? Is everything okay?”  
  
Dean nodded and reached out over the space between their beds, grabbing onto Sam’s hand. “Everything’s fine, Sammy. I just-- I hate dealing with demons and this one was no better.”  
  
Sam nodded, swinging their hands lightly. “What lies did this one try?”  
  
Dean swallowed hard, half-smiling. “He said--” Dean thought for a moment, unsure of what exactly to say to Sam. “He said he’d fix Dad if we gave him Dylan,” he decided finally.  
  
Sam bit his lip. “How-- how’d you get him to do it?”  
  
“Told him I’d get Melody to put him back in the triangle if he didn’t,” Dean smiled. “So what’d you do at the hospital?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Got an x-ray of my hand.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked.  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah. I could see where everything had been broken. Where everything had like, grown back together.”  
  
“How’d it look?” Dean asked, shifting on his bed.  
  
“It’s pretty obvious why I can’t move it,” Sam replied quietly.  
  
Dean squeezed Sam’s hand reassuring, before pulling back, rolling onto his back.  
  
Sam sighed and kept his arm up for a few seconds longer, before finally dropping it back down. “Can I--” he paused when John’s shower turned off. “Can I sleep with you?” he asked quietly.  
  
Dean turned back to Sam. “Yeah, of course.”  
  
Sam grinned and pushed himself up, practically stumbling over to Dean, before climbing over him, laying down on him.  
  
“Oof,” Dean groaned playfully, before leaning up to give Sam a kiss. “You okay now?”  
  
Sam nodded, leaning over Dean, pushed up on his elbow. “I think so.”  
  
“Not scared anymore?” Dean asked, dancing his fingers along Sam’s chest.  
  
Sam shook his head. “Was never scared. Just-- just--”  
  
“Just scared?” Dean offered playfully.  
  
“Okay, maybe,” Sam admitted, finally just laying down. “What would we do if-- if Dad hadn’t made Michael forget?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Dean breathed, rubbing Sam’s back comfortingly. “I don’t know what we’d do.”  
  
Sam sighed and snuggled into Dean’s chest, taking a deep breath. “Dean, do you remember what the demon said when he came for me?”  
  
“Which part?” Dean asked carefully, hoping to hell Sam hadn’t figured out what the demon meant when he said someone was coming for Dylan.  
  
“When he said that he had plans for me, that came true,” Sam replied. “Do you-- what do you think he meant? Do you think he meant us? Or having Dylan?”  
  
“Probably,” Dean admitted, trying not to breathe a sigh of relief. “Probably, yeah.”  
  
“Do you think that means he pushed us together?” Sam asked. “I mean, what if we’re only together because he did something to us? Something that made us love each other.”  
  
“I don’t think so, Sammy,” Dean assured him.  
  
“Or what if he made sure we ran into Rosier?” Sam continued on, ignoring Dean’s comment. “What if he made sure that we had Dylan?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Dean said softly. “Maybe he did. But that doesn’t change the fact that Dylan’s yours.”  
  
“Ours,” Sam corrected, and Dean cringed when he realized his slip.  
  
“That’s what I meant,” Dean lied. “Ours. He’s our son, no matter how we got him. And I-- I love you too much for it to just be the work of some demon.”  
  
Sam looked up at Dean, eyes shining. “I love you, so much, Dean,” he said, laying his head back down.  
  
Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. “I love you too, Sam.” He closed his eyes and tried to forget everything that had happened that day, just trying to think of Dylan, waiting for them back home.  
 

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 27  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter  
**Summary:** It's Valentine's Day, and a little demigod has decided to play a game with Dean  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

**ten months and two days old**  
  
Sam groaned softly and stretched his arms out above his head, smiling weakly when he opened his eyes. “Morning , Dean,” he said quietly, looking up at Dean.  
  
Dean smiled back and leaned down, giving Sam a gentle kiss, their lips sticking together slightly when he pulled apart. “Morning breath.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and leaned up, giving Dean another kiss. “Morning breath yourself.”  
  
“Sleep okay?” Dean asked, shifting to his other elbow.  
  
Sam nodded before he yawned. “What time is it?” he mumbled, trying to push himself up to glance at their clock. “Dylan awake yet?”  
  
Dean shook his head before leaning down again, kissing Sam on the forehead. “Haven’t heard anything.”  
  
Sam grinned. “And we always hear something.”  
  
Dean grinned back and nodded before finally laying back down, curled up on Sam’s chest. “That kid is a loud one, I must admit.”  
  
“Must take after you,” Sam muttered, running his fingers up and down Dean’s back, feeling him shiver against him. “Certainly not me. I’m a quiet sleeper.”  
  
Dean looked up at Sam. “How can you tell? You’re asleep.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Am I a quiet sleeper?” he asked.  
  
Dean sighed and nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted. “He must take after me.”  
  
Sam smiled again. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Dean.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes but just snuggled up to Sam even more. “I was hoping you’d forget.”  
  
Sam poked Dean in the back, causing him to jump.  
  
“Fine, fine,” Dean muttered. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Samantha.”  
  
Sam glared at Dean and shoved him off him, laughing when Dean sprawled out on the bed. “You’re an ass,” he laughed.  
  
Dean shrugged and pushed himself back up, leaning over Sam. “But it’s Valentine’s Day, doesn’t that count for something?”  
  
Sam shrugged and lifted his hand, holding his fingers about an inch apart. “Little bit.”  
  
Dean studied Sam for a second, before looking down at his fingers. “What is that, your penis size?” Dean laughed, shoving Sam back. “Go get Dylan up, he’s probably gonna wake up soon anyway.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam hummed softly to Dylan, holding the spoon up to his mouth. “Gonna open up anytime soon?” He waited for a couple more seconds before sighing, dropping the spoon down onto Dylan’s highchair. “Okay, so no more breakfast. Are you full?” He looked up when Dean came out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel, looking around. “What’s going on?” Sam asked, watching Dean closely, swallowing hard, watching the muscles shift beneath Dean’s skin. “Everything okay?”  
  
Dean nodded, glancing over at Sam. “Thought I heard something.”  
  
Sam frowned. “If something happened Dean, I would’ve called for you. What’s going on?”  
  
Dean looked worried for a second longer before he finally grinned and walked over to Sam, leaning down to give him a kiss. “I really just wanted an excuse to be half-naked in front of you.”  
  
Sam began to laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t need an excuse. If I had my way, you’d be naked all the time. Wouldn’t work, really wouldn’t have to do much of anything, just be…naked.” He smiled. “If I had it _my_ way, that is.”  
  
“You know, I always liked the way you think, Sammy,” Dean smiled. “Anyway, I’ll be in the bedroom.” He turned and began walking away. “That is, unless you want to join me.”  
  
“Join you where?” Sam asked. “In the bedroom?”  
  
Dean shook his head and wiggled his ass just a little, towel slipping down. “In the shower,” he said huskily, winking at Sam.  
  
Sam grinned. “Give me a second to put Dylan back down, ‘kay?”  
  
Dean nodded. “But if you take too long, I’ll have to start without you.”  
  
Sam swallowed hard and stood up, lifting Dylan up out of the highchair. “Okay, you know what Dylan? You need to go back to bed.” He hurried down to Dylan’s nursery as Dean’s laughter filled the house.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean groaned and sat up, smiling at the ache between his legs. “I am gonna be _really_ late for work, aren’t I?” He laid back down, tongue coming out to wet his lips.  
  
“No, you _are_ really late for work,” Sam corrected, laying his head back down on Dean’s chest. “God, is sex always better on Valentine’s Day?”  
  
“Valentine’s Day is when I pull out all my good moves,” Dean explained. “Gotta impress ya.”  
  
Sam smiled and sighed, reaching up to trace shapes on Dean’s chest, turning his head to press a kiss to the sweaty skin. “You’re gonna have to take another shower before you go,” he pointed out, lifting his head. “You’re already so late, and with that…you may as well stay home,” he finished hopefully.  
  
Dean smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s head, before sitting up slightly at the sound of the doorbell. “We have a doorbell?”  
  
Sam groaned and rolled off of Dean, closing his eyes. “Go get it. I’m dead.”  
  
Dean sighed and swung his legs off the bed, looking around for a moment before grabbing onto his boxers, pulling them on. “Look pretty good for somebody who’s dead,” Dean muttered, grabbing his t-shirt. “Be right back.”  
  
Sam nodded and settled into the pillow, taking a deep breath.  
  
Dean jogged out of the bedroom and through the kitchen, opening up the porch door. He stepped into the porch, shivering a bit, looking out the window. He frowned when he didn’t see anybody and opened up the door slowly, ready to fight if somebody jumped out at him. He sighed in relief when he stuck his head outside, looking around. “Hmm,” he murmured, ready to go back into the house when he heard a young boy giggling. “What the…” He stepped outside, going down the couple steps, looking around. He heard the giggling again before a sharp pain shot up his side. “Ow,” he muttered, glancing down. A small, golden piece of metal was sticking out of his side. Dean swallowed hard and reached down, grasping onto whatever the hell it was, taking a deep breath before pulling it out. He studied it, realizing it looked like a small arrow. Dean looked up quickly, eyes darting around before looking back down at his side. There was no blood and the pain was actually gone, a heady feeling spreading through his body. “Sam?” he called, going back inside, closing the door behind him.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and sat up. “What?” he yelled.  
  
“Wanna come here for a second?” Dean asked, leaning against the counter.  
  
“God,” Sam muttered, rolling out of the bed. He grabbed his pyjama bottoms and pulled them on, walking out to the kitchen. “What?”  
  
“What’s this look like to you?” Dean asked, holding his hand out to Sam.  
  
Sam sighed and reached out, grabbing the arrow. “Well, it looks like an arrow. A really tiny arrow. Where’d you find it?”  
  
“Oh, nowhere important,” Dean shrugged, “only sticking out of my ribcage! I got freakin’ shot with this thing when I opened the door!”  
  
Sam studied the arrow, before handing it back to Dean. “Um, I think even you can figure this one out, Dean.”  
  
Dean looked up at Sam in confusion. “Yeah, one of our neighbours has a kid who’s a complete asshole.”  
  
A faint smile graced Sam’s features and he shook his head slightly. “A young boy, giggling or laughing?”  
  
Dean’s jaw dropped and he nodded. “You heard it! Okay, you didn’t happen to see anybody peeking in our bedroom window, did you?”  
  
Sam shook his head again. “Dean, it’s not our neighbours and nobody was sneaking around our house. Come on, Dean, I _know_ you know this. Little boy giggling, shot with an arrow, Valentine’s Day…” He smiled when Dean’s eyes finally filled with understanding.  
  
“I got shot by Cupid’s arrow?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam in shock.  
  
Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think so.”  
  
“Christ,” Dean muttered, turning away from Sam. “Well, I think that gives me an excuse for why I’m late for work, at least.” He sighed. “Am I going to die?”  
  
Sam started laughing and shook his head. “No, you’re not going to die! You’re just going to be really, _really_ horny. Or something. I’m not really sure. Anyway, I don’t see it being a big difference from your regular day-to-day life.”  
  
Dean shoved Sam, glaring at him. “Sam, this isn’t funny! I just got _shot_ by a faggy little angel or something!”  
  
“He’s a demigod,” Sam muttered, crossing his arms. “Not that it’s important or anything.”  
  
Dean groaned and dropped the arrow onto the counter, walking past Sam. “So what? Everybody I see for the day is just going to make me super horny or something?”  
  
“Well, how do you feel?” Sam asked carefully, stepping towards Dean, following him back into the bedroom.  
  
“Pissed off!” Dean exclaimed.  
  
Sam sighed. “Other than the obvious. High, maybe? Maybe like you want to play some Air Supply--”  
  
“I’d have to be high to wanna play Air Supply,” Dean muttered.  
  
“Go all lovey-dovey on me?” Sam finished. “Anything?”  
  
Dean sighed and tried to calm down, trying to figure out how exactly it was he felt. “I don’t know. Kind of like…I sniffed a permanent marker or something. And yeah, maybe I do wanna--” he stopped talking and shook his head. “I need fresh air. I’m going for a jog.” He walked over to the dresser and pulled open one of the drawers, grabbing a pair of shorts. He pulled them on and looked up at Sam. “What?”  
  
“Dean, I don’t want you going outside right now,” Sam explained. “You could-- you could fall in love with the first person you see. And the second, and the third. You could go out there and fall in love with every single person out there, and I don’t want you to.”  
  
“When’s this wear off?” Dean asked.  
  
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Midnight. Dawn. Something like that, I’m sure.”  
  
Dean sighed. “Call Bob, tell him I’m sick. Or-- or tell him I got shot. Wait, no, then he’d want to come visit me. Just tell him I probably won’t be coming in. Okay?”  
  
“Fine,” Sam muttered.  
  
“Great,” Dean said quietly, walking back out of the bedroom.  
  
Sam leaned against the wall and his head went back, hitting it softly. “Stupid Cupid.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean jogged on the spot, waiting for a car to pass. Once it was out of the way, he started moving again, crossing the street. He tried to keep his mind focused on just running, eyes on the sidewalk, but his mind kept drifting away, that heady feeling returning. He stopped running and groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. He looked up as he heard footsteps, a young woman running by.  
  
“Hi,” she said quietly and kept on going.  
  
Dean resisted the urge to look back and follow her with his eyes, but it was too much. He looked back, smiling to himself until she was out of sight. “Shit,” he muttered, shaking his head. “No, no, that doesn’t mean anything, I look at girls all the time. I’m fine.” He reached up and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Sam’s wrong, I’m not falling in love with anybody.” He began jogging again and turned up the volume on his iPod, singing along in his head to Echo and the Bunnymen. He turned a corner and didn’t have time to stop before he ran right into another jogger.  
  
“Ow!” the guy yelled, wavering on his feet.  
  
“Oof,” Dean groaned as he landed right on his ass on the sidewalk. “Sorry,” he muttered, reaching up to yank one of his earphones out.  
  
“You okay?” the guy asked, pulling his own earphones out, sticking his hand out to Dean.  
  
Dean nodded, taking the guy’s hand. A warm feeling began to spread through him as he stood up. It took a couple seconds to get back to himself and he finally let go of the guy’s hand, smiling apologetically. “Sorry,” he said again and he dropped his eyes as he began to blush.  
  
The guy shrugged. “S’fine. Keep your eyes open next time.” He began to jog again, patting Dean’s shoulder as he went by.  
  
Dean nodded and watched as the guy ran away, eyes on the guy’s ass. As soon as the guy was out of sight, Dean’s eyes snapped to the ground and he squeezed them shut. “Shit,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Don’t love them, don’t even _like_ them. Fuck.” He opened his eyes and lifted his head, looking around. People in the cars driving by, a couple walking on the other side of the road, a man old enough to be his father getting his newspaper. Dean’s head began to swirl and the ground shifted as he fell down again. “God,” he muttered, trying to push himself back up, but a wave of nausea hit and he just got even more dizzy. He crawled off the sidewalk onto the grass of someone’s lawn and sat up. The last thing he heard before he passed out was Cupid’s giggling.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean groaned and rolled over, feeling hands on him. “Don’t touch me,” he mumbled, trying to push himself up.  
  
“I think you fainted,” a young woman’s voice came, but her hands didn’t leave him.  
  
Dean shook his head and pushed himself up till he was sitting and opened his eyes. “Please, don’t touch me.”  
  
The woman nodded and stepped back. “Should I call an ambulance? Are you alright?”  
  
Dean shook his head and reached out for the tree he had passed out by and helped himself up, gripping into the bark. “I’m fine. Just-- just dehydrated, I think.”  
  
“Do you live near here?” she asked, trying to keep her dog from running away.  
  
Dean nodded, looking around, trying to ignore the growing feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Not too far.”  
  
“Do you want a drink first?” she asked, looking around. “Are you okay to make it back?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean breathed, “I’m okay. Thank you though. Just-- I’ll be fine.” Dean glanced down. “Cute dog.”  
  
The woman smiled. “Thanks. Are you sure you’re okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said again. “I probably should be getting back, who knows how long I’ve been out.”  
  
The woman glanced down at her watch. “It’s ten-twenty, if that helps.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Again, thanks.” He smiled and began walking away, going back the way he came. He didn’t start running again, just taking it slowly, swallowing hard. “God,” he muttered. “What the hell’s going on with me?” He stuck his earphone back in and just kept walking, not looking around at anybody who was on the street with him, focused solely on getting back home without passing out again.   
  
A middle-aged man nodded politely at Dean as he passed, talking on his cell phone, and Dean could feel his head begin to swirl again and he paused, taking a deep breath, before he started walking again.  
  
Dean sighed in relief when he finally saw their house and he jogged up the driveway, jumping the steps before opening the door to the porch. He pulled his earphones out as he stumbled into the house, the dizziness and nausea starting to come back. “Sam!” he called out weakly, before falling to his knees, crying out in pain.  
  
Sam came rushing out of the living room, stopping in surprise when he saw Dean. “Dean, are you okay?”  
  
Dean shook his head and fell to his side, curling up. “I’m sick. Help me.”  
  
Sam nodded and walked over to Dean, crouched down to help him up. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Come on, let’s go to bed.”  
  
Dean looked up at Sam, meeting his eyes before his face broke out into a grin. “You’re so pretty, Sam,” he said softly, reaching up to fix Sam’s hair.  
  
Sam smiled and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, standing up. “You fell in love, didn’t you?”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Not like any kind of love I’ve ever been in. I don’t usually pass out with the amount of love I’m in.”  
  
“You passed out?” Sam asked, pushing their bedroom door open. “Are you okay?”  
  
Dean nodded. “I was kind of already on the ground anyway.” He sat down on the bed and struggled weakly to kick off his sneakers.  
  
Sam dropped to his knees and untied Dean’s sneakers, helping them off before pulling off Dean’s socks.  
  
Dean brought his legs up and curled up in the middle of the bed, eyes closed. “There was a girl. And then I ran into this guy.”  
  
Sam sighed and reached out, brushing Dean’s sweat-slicked hair off his forehead.  
  
“My head got all wonky, got dizzy, and I couldn’t stop looking at everybody around me,” Dean continued on quietly, voice rough. “Passed out.”  
  
Sam began biting the inside of his lip, studying Dean closely. “Are you okay?”  
  
Dean shrugged and opened his eyes. “I guess. Still dizzy. I don’t get it, I didn’t fall in love with them.”  
  
“You fell in love with _all_ of them,” Sam corrected. “That’s how people in love feel. Well, at least in Cupid’s eyes.”  
  
“I don’t feel dizzy when I look at you,” Dean murmured, eyes fluttering.  
  
“I’ll try not to be offended,” Sam smiled.   
  
“Didn’t mean it like that,” Dean apologized quietly.   
  
“I told you that you shouldn’t go outside,” Sam said, standing up.  
  
Dean groaned and rolled over a bit, giving Sam room to get on the bed with him. “Thanks, Sammy, way to be sympathetic. Are you sure I’m not gonna die?”  
  
Sam nodded, curling up behind Dean, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I called Dad. He wasn’t impressed that you went outside.”  
  
Dean smiled. “What did he say about the actual…whatever it is?”  
  
“Spell,” Sam answered. “Enchantment. He said that when the sun rises tomorrow, you’ll be fine. All the feelings will be gone.”  
  
Dean sighed and snuggled into Sam. “Not _all_ the feelings, Sammy. I’ll still love you.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Dad said you’d be a lot more chick-flick too.”  
  
Dean smiled again. “That’s okay. You should get some enjoyment out of that.”  
  
“I need to have an actual shower,” Sam said softly, pressing his lips to Dean’s neck. “I got pretty dirty in the last one.” He unwrapped himself from Dean and stood up. “Don’t move, don’t go watch TV, just stay here, okay?”  
  
Dean nodded and reached up, grabbing onto a pillow to wrap his arms around. “Do you love me, Sammy?”  
  
Sam smiled from the bathroom, leaning against the door frame. “I try.” He walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.  
  
Dean took a deep breath and sighed, holding the pillow closer. The swirling had mostly stopped and he wasn’t that dizzy anymore, but he still felt like he was on a roller coaster, his stomach full of butterflies. He groaned and rolled onto his back, squeezing his eyes shut.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
“What about Dylan?” Dean asked, walking out of the bedroom. “I mean, I understand the love, but I am _not_ some weird pedophile.”  
  
“You’re not going to fall in love with him,” Sam assured him, watching as Dean sat down at the kitchen table. “Order something in, would ya?”  
  
Dean nodded and grabbed his cell phone, trying to remember the number for the pizza place when a car pulled into their driveway.  
  
Sam went down to the nursery and smiled at Dylan. “Hi, Dylan, how’s Mommy’s baby doing?” He leaned down and lifted Dylan up, holding him up to his chest. “Nice nap? That’s good.” He grabbed Dylan’s blankie and threw it over his shoulder, walking out of the nursery. He fixed Dylan’s shirt then stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Dean at the door. “Dean, what the hell are you doing?”  
  
Bob jumped and shoved Dean off of him, flashing a quick smile at Sam. “He just jumped me, Sam, I swear.”  
  
Dean glanced back at Sam, wiping his mouth off, but he stepped closer to Bob anyway. “Sammy, I don’t feel well.”  
  
“Why are you even here, Bob?” Sam asked, laying Dylan down in his playpen. “I told you, Dean was sick.”  
  
“I just wanted to check up on him,” Bob explained, trying to step away from Dean, but Dean just pressed him up against the wall, softly grinding his hips against Bob’s. “What’s wrong with him? Is he on like E or something?”  
  
“He’s just-- he’s just sick,” Sam said, walking over to them. “He had like a fever, he’s kind of delusional.”  
  
Bob frowned and glanced down at Dean, who was back to mouthing his neck. “You guys are a really weird couple, you know.”  
  
Sam half-smiled and nodded, reaching out to pull Dean away from him. “I gave him an extra-strength Tylenol or something, I guess he’s not reacting as well with it as I’d hoped.”  
  
Bob nodded understandingly. “So I better go. Is he going to be better tomorrow?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, he should be. Thanks for dropping by, sorry about his…” he trailed off, shaking his head slowly.  
  
“Horniness?” Bob offered.  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”  
  
Bob shrugged. “Oh well, it’s nice to know I’m loved. Bye Dean, get better, ‘kay? Go jerk off or something.” He nodded and opened up the porch door.  
  
Dean groaned and tried to pull away from Sam, looking up at him helplessly. “Sammy, lemme go.”  
  
“Not until Bob’s gone,” Sam gritted, watching Bob get in his car. “Dean, I can’t believe you,” he said quietly, shoving Dean away from him.   
  
“I can’t help it,” Dean cried, turning to face Sam. “I just-- I started getting all dizzy and he helped me stand and then I-- I kissed him. I’m sorry Sammy, I didn’t mean to, it just happened.”  
  
“What just happened was you just cheated on me,” Sam snapped, storming away from Dean.   
  
Dean sighed and rubbed at his face, the dizziness leaving once again. “Sam, I didn’t mean to! I mean, come on, it’s Bob! My boss! You really think that I’m attracted to him? I saw an old man, like, our father _old_ today, getting his paper and I would’ve jumped if he’d been on the same side of the road.”  
  
Sam sighed and turned around, looking at Dean sadly. “You were practically fucking your boss in our kitchen.”  
  
Dean reached out to Sam and grabbed onto his sleeve, pulling him towards him. “Sam, I didn’t ask Cupid to shoot me, in case you forgot. It could’ve just as easily been you. I just-- please, forgive me.”  
  
Sam dropped his eyes and finally nodded. “Yeah. Just-- just call the pizza place then go hide in the living room or something.”  
  
Dean nodded and grabbed his cell phone, calling the number he had planned on calling minutes before.  
  
Sam walked back into the living room and got Dylan out of his playpen, laying him down on his blanket on the floor.  
  
Dylan pushed himself up on all fours and squealed, crawling over to Sam, who had sat down on the floor a couple feet away. He grabbed onto Sam’s knees and shakily pulled himself up onto his feet, laughing.  
  
Sam smiled down at Dylan, giving him a kiss.   
  
Dylan let go of Sam’s knees to clap his hands but he just fell back down to the floor, still laughing.  
  
Sam laughed softly and lifted Dylan up, holding him up to his chest. “What do you want for supper, Dylan?” he asked him, kissing his rosy cheek. “Wanna try some of that cereal again? Mommy can make you whatever you want. Yummy.”  
  
Dean sighed and walked into the living room, dropping his cell phone on the coffee table. “Pizza and garlic fingers. I’ll go lock myself in the bedroom, protect the pizza boy from my lusting.”  
  
Sam reached up and grasped onto Dean’s hand, pulling him down. “I overreacted, I’m sorry.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Sam, I was molesting Bob in our kitchen, you did _not_ overreact. Perfect reaction, actually, I think.”  
  
Sam smiled. “Just-- I know this is going to sound really stupid but it was just Cupid’s Arrow, right? Are you and Bob like, a thing? Dean, I just want you to tell me. I won’t get mad.”  
  
Dean shook his head furiously. “Fuck no, Sam. Bob and I are definitely not a thing. I’m not a thing with anybody, except you. I would never do that. It was just Cupid’s Arrow and tomorrow at dawn, everything will be better again.” He wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulder, pulling him in. “I promise.”  
  
Sam sighed in relief, turning his head to give Dean a kiss.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam rolled onto his back, closing his eyes tightly before letting them finally drift open, adjusting to the sunlight in the bedroom. “Dean?” he asked softly, voice rough.  
  
Dean yawned and rolled over right onto Sam, tucking his head under Sam’s chin. “Sleep okay?”  
  
Sam nodded. “You?”  
  
Dean nodded. “After I actually got to sleep, it was great. Of course, the spinning room kept me awake until about three.”  
  
Sam smiled. “What are you going to say to Bob today?” he asked, sitting up as Dean rolled off the bed, going to the dresser.  
  
Dean shuddered at the thought. “I’m not really sure. I think it’s going to be somewhere along the lines of, ‘Sam gave me a roofie’ or ‘I thought that you were Tom Cruise’. I haven’t really decided yet.”  
 

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 28  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** Sam finally makes a decision about his hand, with the help of Dr Tanner, Dean, and a really nice surgeon  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

**ten months and seven days old**  
  
Dean shifted and looked over at Sam, who was watching Dr Tanner closely.   
  
“So, you want to get reconstructive surgery,” Dr Tanner repeated, before taking a small note. “Okay. Why?”  
  
“What do you mean why?” Sam asked, leaning slightly forward in his seat. “Because I can’t move my hand.”  
  
“I know that, Sam,” Dr Tanner said, “but why now? It’s been more than a year since the accident and--”  
  
“It wasn’t an accident,” Dean interrupted, speaking for the first time since they started. “We were beat up. Completely intentional.”  
  
Dr Tanner nodded sympathetically and began moving his chair back and forth, playing with his pencil. “The incident, then. The beating. It’s been more than a year, why now? What’s happened to make you think you need it now?”  
  
Sam swallowed and glanced over at Dean, who was still looking at him. “A lot of things, I guess. I don’t know. The fire, my other arm being damaged, I don’t know. And a few weeks ago, I saw an x-ray, of my hand. What it looks like.”  
  
“So it’s strictly a medical reason?” Dr Tanner asked. “You just want use of your hand again.”  
  
Sam nodded. “But why don’t you tell me why _you_ think I want the surgery.”  
  
Dr Tanner shrugged. “Feelings of inadequacy.”  
  
“Sam is not inadequate,” Dean snapped. “He’s fine.”  
  
“You told me about the trip to Virginia, to get your father,” Dr Tanner continued on, ignoring Dean. “Dean had to work but he had to go and take time off, because you couldn’t drive yourself there.”  
  
Sam looked back over at Dean quickly, before nodding. “Yeah. I guess. Th-- that’s true.”  
  
“Dylan’s getting older, it’s going to be a lot harder to take care of him with just one hand,” Dr Tanner pointed out. “Dean’ll be at work, you’ll be the one who’ll have to get Dylan dressed, make his breakfast, maybe pick him up from school. That’s going to be hard with only one hand.”  
  
“It’s not that,” Sam murmured, meeting Dr Tanner’s eyes before dropping them, looking down at his desk.  
  
“What is it then?” Dr Tanner asked.  
  
“Yeah, Sammy, what is it?” Dean asked, shifting closer to Sam.   
  
“I just want to be able to dress _myself_ again,” Sam answered. “I can’t tie my shoes. I’ve tried, but I can’t. I can button my shirt, but it takes awhile. Getting my jeans on…yeah, I want to be able to drive myself somewhere, I want to be able to work, I want to be able to go somewhere and not have to depend on Dean all the time.” He glanced over at Dean. “Sorry.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Dean murmured, reaching over to squeeze Sam’s hand.  
  
“I want to be able to squeeze his hand back,” Sam said softly. “And Dylan’s getting bigger, it’s getting harder to lift him up. I want to be able to lift him up, carry him around. I just want the life I would’ve had if we hadn’t gone to the movies that night. I want to be normal again.” He looked up at Dr Tanner. “Is that what you wanted me to say?”  
  
Dr Tanner smiled. “Yes, actually, it is.”  
  
Sam had to smile back.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam smiled and leaned down, picking Dylan up awkwardly, holding him up to his chest. “What’s going on Dylan? How’s Mommy’s little boy?”  
  
Dylan put his lips together and blew, purring up at Sam. He reached up and pulled on Sam’s hair, bouncing up and down in Sam’s arms.  
  
“Yeah yeah, alright,” Sam said, nodding as he walked around Dylan’s nursery, just trying to keep Dylan in his grip. He yawned softly, shaking his hair out of his eyes.  
  
Dylan squealed and started babbling up at Sam, trying to lean back to meet Sam’s eyes.   
  
“That’s interesting Dylan, what did Daddy have to say about that?” Sam continued on, bouncing Dylan up. “Okay, so let me tell you about _my_ day. Mommy and Daddy went to see Doctor Tanner, what do you think about that?”  
  
“Bada,” Dylan babbled, reaching his arms out.   
  
“Yeah, Daddy and I still haven’t figured that one out yet,” Sam murmured, kissing the top of Dylan’s head, ruffling his hair. “Dylan, do you mean bottle?” He bounced Dylan up, getting a better hold on him. “Dylan, do you want a bottle?” He turned around and began walking out of Dylan’s nursery, going down the hall. “Dean, would you get him a bottle?”  
  
“Hold on a sec,” Dean called back, leaning back against the counter. “So you and Michael come up with any names yet?”  
  
Paula smiled and shook her head. “Well, I mean, we’ve come up with names, but we can’t agree on anything.”  
  
“Dean, now would be nice!” Sam called, walking out into the living room. He glanced into the kitchen. “Hey Paula.”  
  
“Hi Sam,” Paula smiled, waving.  
  
“Well, I’ve always been partial to Dean,” Dean grinned, nudging Paula playfully.  
  
Paula rolled her eyes and smiled. “I’m only five months along; we still have four more months to agree on a name.”  
  
“That’s not that long,” Dean said. “Flies by like that,” he snapped his fingers.  
  
“When did you and Sam come up with Dylan?” Paula asked, glancing back into the living room. “I’ll get the bottle, Sam!” She walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle, going over to the microwave.  
  
“When we held him, for the first time,” Dean said, smiling at the memory. “We never really thought about it at all. Well, except that we knew if he was a girl, we’d name her Mary.”  
  
Paula took the bottle out of the microwave and tested the temperature, smiling over at Dean. “Who’s Mary?” she asked, walking into the living room, handing Sam Dylan’s bottle.  
  
“My mother,” Sam answered, smiling thankfully as he took the bottle, shifting Dylan. “She died when I was a baby.”  
  
“Right,” Paula nodded, “I think you told me that.” She smiled down at Sam and walked back out into the kitchen with Dean.  
  
Sam sighed and curled up as best he could on the couch, with Dylan in his arms and a bottle.   
  
Dean smiled at Paula and looked back into the living room, frowning at Sam. “Hold on a sec, Paula.” He walked into the living room and crouched down by the couch, brushing Sam’s hair off his forehead. “Sammy, go to bed, get some sleep. You’re tired.”  
  
Sam shook his head and yawned. “Am not. Just-- I’m wide awake, I swear. We just got up early this morning, is all.”  
  
“Sam, let me take him,” Dean said softly.  
  
Sam shook his head again and forced his eyes to open. “You’re talking to Paula. I’m just sleepy, I’m fine.” His eyes began drifting shut again and he grip began to loosen on Dylan.  
  
Dean frowned and fixed Dylan’s hair, leaning down to give Sam a kiss. “Get some sleep, little brother,” he said quietly, so that Paula wouldn’t hear. He picked Dylan up and took the bottle, standing up. “Say night-night to Mommy, Dyl. Night-night.”  
  
Paula smiled as Dean made his way back into the kitchen, Dylan sitting on his hip, trying to get him to take the bottle.   
  
“See this little boy here,” Dean said, turning to show Dylan off to Paula, “was named after Bob Dylan.” He gave Dylan a kiss. “Aren’t ya, buddy?”  
  
Paula smiled and nodded slowly. “So, Sam’s going to get surgery, huh?” she asked quietly.  
  
Dean nodded and set the bottle down when it was obvious Dylan didn’t want it. “I guess. And remember this for me: bada does not mean bottle.”  
  
Paula laughed softly, nodding. “Okay. So are you going to need me to watch him again sometime?”  
  
Dean sighed and looked around, nodding eventually. “Paula, I hate asking you and Mike to baby-sit for us, but the only other person we know really well is Bob. And well, Bob is not baby-sitting my son. But yeah, we have an appointment with the surgeon, to talk about the surgery. We probably shouldn’t take Dyl.”  
  
Paula nodded before glancing down at her watch. “I’d better get home, Michael is apparently making the greatest dinner ever.”  
  
“He ordered Chinese,” Dean said, walking Paula over to the door.  
  
Paula grinned. “Probably. So just call me, when you need me. I don’t have any showings for the next couple of days, and Michael is usually home.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yup. Thanks again, Pauley.”  
  
Paula rolled her eyes. “Bye. Bye-bye, Dylan,” she waved. “Oh and Dean, maybe Bada means Dada.” She smiled one last time, before pulling the door closed after her.  
  
Dean sighed and turned, leaning against the door. He shifted Dylan in his arms, thinking for a moment. “Maybe Bada means Dada.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
“So what’s it going to take?” Dean asked, leaning forward in his chair. “I mean, how long will the surgery take? What kind of anesthetic?”  
  
“Dean, stop worrying, he knows what he’s doing,” Sam said softly, reaching over squeeze Dean’s leg reassuringly. “Unless this is the first surgery you’ve ever done,” he said suddenly, looking back at the doctor.  
  
Dr Daniels smiled and shook his head. “No, it’s not my first. I’ve been doing this for awhile, don’t worry.”  
  
“Thank god,” Sam breathed, nodding. “See, Dean? It’s going to be fine.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “How long is he going to have to be in the hospital? We’ve both been in hospitals enough lately, thank you.”  
  
“If everything goes fine, probably only a couple nights,” Dr Daniels replied. “Do the surgery in the morning, spend a couple days monitoring him, he goes home. With the occasional follow-up, you understand.”  
  
“What about like, physical therapy?” Sam asked. “Would I need it?”  
  
Dr Daniels thought for a moment before opening one of his desk drawers, taking something out. He set it down on the desk in front of Sam.  
  
“A stress ball?” Sam asked, picking it up.  
  
“Squeeze it,” Dr Daniels said. “Right hand.”  
  
Sam swallowed hard and took a deep breath, glancing over at Dean. “I-- I don’t think I can.”  
  
“Try,” Dr Daniels prompted.   
  
Sam could feel the muscles in his arm and hand tensing up, but he could barely get his fingers to move. He concentrated harder, not used to trying work out his hand and then, his thumb moved and squeezed the ball. He smiled in relief and dropped the ball back on the table. “That’s all I can do.”  
  
Dr Daniels nodded and took the stress ball back, putting in the drawer. “After the surgery, I want you to squeeze that ball. Also, use these.” He pulled out a small embroidered box and opened it up.  
  
“I’ve seen these before,” Dean said, taking the metal balls out, moving them around in his hand. “Chinese, or something, right?”  
  
Dr Daniels nodded. “Chinese Health Balls. Stimulates blood circulation, relaxes muscles and joints, relieves joint stiffness and soreness.” He reached over and took the balls from Dean, holding them in his hand, showing Sam how to use them. “I know they might not seem like much, but this is the best treatment we can give you.”  
  
Sam smiled gratefully and nodded. “So what, I just go around all day, playing with those things?”  
  
Dr Daniels smiled and shook his head. “Not all day. Maybe for a few minutes when you wake up, when you’re lying in bed. If your hand starts to feel stiff or sore.”  
  
Sam nodded understandingly. “So, what do you think the odds are of this surgery working? Of me being able to use my hand again.”  
  
“Well, I’m going to try not and touch your thumb, so really, I don’t see your hand getting any worse,” Dr Daniels began.  
  
Sam and Dean both nodded.  
  
“And while I’ll be doing everything I can to make sure that your hand is at the best it can be, that might not be the case.”  
  
“Right,” Sam murmured. “I mean, I’m not expecting miracles or anything. My hand was shattered, I don’t expect it to be perfect again.”  
  
Dr Daniels smiled and nodded. “Well, as long as you’re not expecting miracles, you should be happy with the results. Both of you. I studied your x-ray and the fact that you can move your thumb like you can makes sense. Only the tip of your thumb was shattered, the knuckle was broken but it healed. Now, you’re pinkie finger, since it’s such a small finger, it was the most damaged. I should be able to get the main knuckle to bend again, but the smaller knuckle may not.”  
  
“Okay,” Sam nodded. “Well, that’s okay.”  
  
“Your other fingers, I’m going to do my best,” Dr Daniels continued. “They’re not going to be as good as they were before, but I’m going to try my damnedest to get you to be able to grip things again.”  
  
Sam grinned. “Thank you. Thanks so much. So when can we do this?”  
  
“Whoa, Sam, don’t you wanna think about this for a minute?” Dean asked, straightening up in his seat. “I mean, hello, major surgery here. Like, your third in less than a year. Can’t we talk about this?”  
  
Dr Daniels smiled sympathetically and stood up. “I’ll give you two a minute. I’ll just be out there.” He walked out from around the desk and nodded at Sam and Dean, before walking out of his office.  
  
“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam asked, turning in his seat. “I want this surgery. I want to be able to use my hand again.”  
  
“What if something goes wrong?” Dean asked. “Sam, you-- you could get an infection. You could lose your entire hand or something.”  
  
“I could hold my son!” Sam exclaimed. “Dean, I can either hold him or feed him. You can do both. You can change him, you can dress him!”  
  
“Sam--” Dean began, but Sam just cut him off.  
  
“Dean, you don’t know what it’s like, okay?” Sam snapped. “Your ankle, I know it gets sore and you limp, but you can walk! You can drive. It doesn’t change your daily life. I can’t tie my sneakers! You don’t know what it’s like to need everything down for you. Please, _please_ let me do this.”  
  
Dean sighed and studied Sam carefully, seeing how serious he was. Finally, he spoke. “If you really want this Sam, then I want you to do it. If you’re ready and everything, then I’m ready too.”  
  
Sam smiled. “Ye-- yeah?”  
  
Dean nodded. “You’re right, I don’t know how hard it is. And I probably never will. It seems like all the bad things that have happened to us, they all happen to you. I want you to have this.”  
  
Sam kept smiling as he leaned over, kissing Dean, smiling against his lips. “I love you,” he said softly, pulling back for a second before kissing him again. “Thank you.”  
  
Dean smiled. “Don’t thank me. I’m not the one who’s going to be cutting you open.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat. “Thank you, Dean,” he said again.  
  
Dean nodded, looking up as Dr Daniels walked back into the office. “I just want you to be happy, Sammy.”  
  
Dr Daniels walked back over to his desk, sitting down. “So, have you decided?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah. I… _we_ want the surgery.”  
  
Dr Daniels smiled. “Well, alright then. Today’s Wednesday, I checked with my secretary, we can do it on Friday. You’d spend the weekend recovering, be home on Monday.”  
  
“Holy,” Dean muttered. “That’s soon. Friday, that’s soon, Sammy. Isn’t that soon?”  
  
Sam shrugged, turning to Dean again. “I don’t know, I mean…yeah, it’s only a couple days away, but you don’t work this weekend, so you could watch Dylan or stay with me or whatever.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good point.”  
  
“Friday’s okay,” Sam said, turning back to Dr Daniels. “Friday’s good.”  
  
Dr Daniels nodded. “Alright then. Ten am, Friday morning.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Sounds good.”  
  
Sam smiled. “Sounds great.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean sighed and shifted on the couch, dropping the remote onto the floor. “No touching, Dill Pickle.”  
  
Dylan dragged himself over to the remote, sitting up before picking up the remote, lifting it up. He began babbling and flapped his arm, causing the remote to slip out of his grip, hitting him on the head.   
  
“Shit,” Dean muttered as Dylan began to wail. He sat up quickly, swinging his legs off the couch. “Oh Christ, Dylan.” He picked Dylan up and checked his head over, looking for blood. “No blood, okay.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Dylan’s head, holding him close. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, Daddy’s here. Shh, Dylan, shh.” Dean pulled back and looked down, studying Dylan, looking for signs that he was actually injured, instead of just hurting. “You look good, Dyl, it’s gonna be okay.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Sam asked, ducking his head out of the bedroom. “Is he okay?”  
  
Dean looked back at Sam, nodding. “Yeah, he uh, he just hit his head. He’s okay. Aren’t ya, Dill Pickle, aren’t ya? Yes, you are. You’re a big little boy, you’re tough.”  
  
Sam walked out of the bedroom slowly, going over to the couch. “Is he okay?” he asked softly, reaching down to kiss Dylan. “Are you okay, Dylan?”  
  
Dylan laid against Dean’s chest, sticking his thumb in his mouth. His face was red and he was breathing heavily, cheeks stained with tears, but he had stopped crying.  
  
Dean shifted to pull Dylan’s thumb out of his mouth, but Sam just shook his head.  
  
“He just hurt himself, let him keep it in,” Sam said.   
  
Dean nodded and shifted on the couch, wrapping his arms around Dylan. “So what’s going on?” Dean asked, tilting his head back to look at Sam.   
  
Sam shrugged and leaned down, giving Dean a kiss. “Can we go for a walk or something? I’m bored.”  
  
Dean nodded and sat up carefully, shifting Dylan before he stood up. “Where do you wanna go?”  
  
“Anywhere,” Sam replied, before turning around and disappearing back into the bedroom.  
  
“You okay?” Dean called, before going down the hallway to Dylan’s nursery.  
  
“Can’t hear you!” Sam yelled from the bedroom.  
  
“Can’t hear you either!” Dean yelled back, going to Dylan’s dresser. He grabbed a tiny hoodie and a small pair of pants, figuring that and Dylan’s blankie would be enough. He walked back out of the nursery into the living room. “I said, are you okay?”  
  
“Fine,” Sam answered, pulling on his own hoodie. “Just wanted to get outside, get some fresh air before I’m holed up in a hospital for the weekend. Want me to get him dressed?”  
  
Dean looked up at Sam, before sitting down carefully on the floor. “Yeah, sure.” He laid Dylan down, keeping a hand on his stomach.  
  
Sam walked over and sat down beside Dean, taking the pants from him. He studied Dylan, before glancing up at Dean.   
  
“Sammy,” Dean said, reaching out to take the pants from him, but Sam just jerked away.  
  
“I can do it,” Sam snapped, “just keep him still.” He finally hooked his right thumb on the waistband and used his entire left hand to guide the pants up Dylan’s legs, even as Dylan started squirming. Sam finally got the pants up and he smiled to himself proudly. “You should do the hoodie, with his head and arms and everything.”  
  
“Kay,” Dean said, reaching out to Dylan. “Okay Pickle, let’s do this. Raise your arms, raise ‘em up like I showed you.” He studied the hoodie, before glancing at Sam. “Okay, he doesn’t need to wear the hoodie. His t-shirt is fine.”  
  
Sam grinned and leaned over, kissing Dean’s cheek. “You don’t have to not put his hoodie on for me. I mean, I know I can’t do it, you don’t have to pretend you can’t either.”  
  
“I can’t, actually,” Dean admitted. “Now that he’s older, he moves too much, harder to get it on.”  
  
“Really?” Sam asked.  
  
“Really,” Dean nodded. “I mean, I can barely get hoodies on _myself_.” He picked Dylan up and stood up, reaching his hand out to Sam, helping him up. “Stroller in the porch?” he asked.  
  
Sam nodded, walking out into the kitchen. He slipped his feet into his sneakers, reaching down to simply tuck the laces in. “Dean, does it ever freak you out?”  
  
Dean studied Sam for a second. “How tall you are? Yes, yes it does. Especially when you stretch in the morning and it looks like you’re too big for the bed. Our king-sized bed.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and walked over to Dean, taking Dylan from him. “Get the stroller outside before he put him in.”  
  
Dean opened up the porch door and grabbed the stroller, opening the door to outside. He walked down the couple steps and set the stroller down. “Does what ever freak me out?”  
  
“How normal we are now,” Sam answered, closing both doors behind him as he skipped the steps.  
  
“How normal we _seem_ ,” Dean corrected, moving out of the way for Sam to put Dylan in the stroller. “We’re brothers, who have sex, raise our son and hunt demons on the side. Oh yeah, Sammy, we’re normal.”  
  
Sam snorted and laughed. “Well, when you say it like that. But I mean, did you ever see yourself having a life like this? A kid, a person that everybody basically thinks you’re kind of married to, a real job?”  
  
“No,” Dean answered, leaning down to buckle Dylan in, fixing Dylan’s blankie, covering him up. “I didn’t. I mean, maybe a kid. Maybe. Of course, I always assumed it’d be with some waitress I banged in an alley or something.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes again. “That’s a great image there, Dean.”  
  
Dean laughed. “You asked, I answered. What’d you want me to say? That ever since I was four, I’d secretly been hoping for all of this? For some semblance of normal again? That’s just not true.” He began pushing Dylan’s stroller, smiling when Dylan began squealing and babbling. “And I know what your answer is. You’ve been hoping for normal ever since you figured out we’re not.”  
  
Sam nodded, walking beside Dean. “That’s not really true,” he admitted, glancing over at him. “When I got out of the hospital after the fire, I told Dad that I wanted to get back into hunting. Like we used to, full time.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Dad told me not to. He said that we’d need to settle down for Dylan and that I’d never see you, because I’d always have to stay home and take care of him. That Dylan would never see you.” He looked over at Dean, eyes squinting in the sun. “I didn’t want that.”  
  
Dean nodded and reached over, grabbing onto Sam’s hand. “I guess we’re kind of destined to be…abnormal.”  
  
Sam smiled. “I kind of always hoped for a life like this, I’ll admit it. Nice house, nice neighbourhood, a kid.”  
  
“You scared about tomorrow?” Dean asked.  
  
“Are you?” Sam asked.  
  
“Hell yeah,” Dean replied. “I just keep picturing you going in, them giving you the anesthetic, and then you never wake up again.” He looked over at Sam, swallowing hard. “Sounds stupid, huh?” he finished quietly.  
  
Sam shook his head. “I spent two weeks of you in a coma; I know what that feeling’s like.”  
  
“What was that like?” Dean asked, glancing both ways before he began pushing the stroller across the street. “Did I ever move or anything?”  
  
Sam shook his head, walking quickly to keep up with Dean. “You just laid there. Bandage around your head, leg up, tube coming out of your mouth. I tried to stay in there like, all day and night, just sitting in that stupid chair but all that beeping and the sound of the breathing machine, it drove me insane. They put me in the psych ward for my nightmares and Dad took my place beside the bed.”  
  
Dean squeezed Sam’s hand, rubbing the skin with his thumb. “You promise, when you come out of the hospital, you won’t be some completely different guy?”  
  
Sam smiled. “Dean, are you going to cry on me here? Seriously, this is major chick-flick territory.”  
  
Dean stopped pushing the stroller and squeezed Sam’s hand. “I’m completely serious, Sam. For the past year, you’ve been-- you’ve been different than before.”  
  
“I had a kid,” Sam pointed out. “You changed too.”  
  
“You changed before Dylan,” Dean told him. “Remember our last Valentine’s Day? When you were so shy.”  
  
Sam nodded, almost blushing just at the thought.   
  
“It wasn’t your stomach. It was your hand,” Dean continued.   
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “No, it was my stomach. I was fat.” He dropped his hand from Dean’s and began walking again. “Are you just going to stand there?”  
  
“Sam,” Dean said warningly, “don’t do this.”  
  
“Don’t do what?” Sam asked.  
  
“Avoid the conversation,” Dean answered as he began pushing the stroller again. “You’re not very good at it.”  
  
“I’m great at it,” Sam muttered. “Now come on, it’s nice out. Let’s just stop talking and-- and enjoy the niceness.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything about it, just kept pushing Dylan’s stroller. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for just a second. “If the surgery doesn’t work, what are you going to do?”  
  
Sam swallowed hard, dropping his head down. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “Keep on keeping on, I guess. The way things are now.”  
  
Dean sighed and nodded. “I’m sorry that it wasn’t my hand, Sammy. Instead of yours.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Don’t say that. Never say that.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
“Yeah, he’s in there right now,” Dean said, shifting on the sidewalk, trying to keep Dylan in his arms. “They wouldn’t let me use my cell in there.” He nodded, looking around, shifting Dylan. “The doctor said he’s gonna make Sam grip things again.” Dean made a disgusted face and groaned loudly. “Ha-ha,” he said sarcastically, “very funny, Dad. Aren’t you morally opposed to that anyway? What are you doing joking about it?”  
  
Dylan pulled his fingers out of his mouth and reached up, dragging them over Dean’s cheek.  
  
Dean groaned and tried to wipe his cheek against his shoulder. “No, Dad, it’s fine, just a little spitty. Yup, I’ll be sure to tell Sam.” He sighed. “No, I hate hospitals, I’m fine outside.” He tried to duck his head when Dylan reached up again, more spit on his fingers and almost fell over, throwing himself off balance. “Nope, nope, I’m fine, we’re fine.” He kissed Dylan. “Aren’t we Dylan, aren’t we? Yes.” He nodded. “Okay, say goodbye to Grampie, Dylan.” He placed his cell phone at Dylan’s mouth, grinning as Dylan began to babble. “Okay, Dad, I’ll call you later. I’ll tell Sam you said hi.” He turned off his cell phone and dropped it back in his pocket, smiling politely at a young woman who walked by. Dean glanced down at his watch, frowning when he realized Sam had only been in surgery for a couple of hours. “Wanna go get something to eat, Dylan?” Dean asked.   
  
Dylan stuck his fingers in his mouth again, looking up at Dean, eyes wide.  
  
Dean nodded. “Alrighty, McDonald’s it is.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean swallowed hard as Dr Daniels walked out into the waiting room. “Hi,” he said softly; for some reason, he didn’t think it was the right time to be talking loudly.  
  
Dr Daniels pulled his mask down off his face and grinned, sitting down beside Dean. “This your son?”  
  
Dean nodded and shifted Dylan, showing him to Dr Daniels. “This is Dylan. Dylan, can you say hi?”  
  
Dylan looked at Dr Daniels and reached out to grab at his mask, before burying his face in Dean’s neck.   
  
Dean smiled. “He’s shy. So um, how’s Sam? Is he okay? Is everything okay? Just tell me that he’s going to live and keep his hand and I won’t have to kill you.” His eyes widened when he realized he was babbling. “Wait, I mean--”  
  
“Sam is going to live,” Dr Daniels interrupted, smiling. “He’s going to keep his hand.”  
  
Dean smiled gratefully. “Yeah? Okay, so far, so good. How did the surgery go?”  
  
“The surgery went fine,” Dr Daniels answered, waggling his fingers down at Dylan, who just squealed and squirmed in Dean’s arms.  
  
“Is he going to be able to use his hand again?” Dean asked.  
  
Dr Daniels smiled again. “I think so, yeah. Only time will tell, he still has to heal.”  
  
“Right,” Dean nodded understandingly.  
  
“But it went well,” Dr Daniels continued, “and I think that he’s going to be able to use his hand again.”  
  
Dean grinned and cheered quietly. “Hear that Dylan? Mommy’s gonna be able to use his hand. Are you happy, Dylan?”  
  
Dr Daniels smiled.  
  
“When can I see him?” Dean asked. “Or is he still asleep?”  
  
“He should be awake by now,” Dr Daniels answered, “but he’s on a lot of pain killers. If you can promise you won’t grab onto his hand, it should be fine.”  
  
Dean nodded. “What do I tell him? When he asks. Do I tell him he’s gonna be able to use his hand again, or what?” He watched Dr Daniels for a reaction. “I’m just supposed to wing it, aren’t I?”  
  
Dr Daniels nodded. “I’m sure you can figure out something.” He pushed himself up. “I’ll show you to his room.”  
  
Dean shifted Dylan then stood up, following Dr Daniels down the hall. “Thanks, doc.”  
  
Dr Daniels grinned. “No problem. Somebody will be in to check on him soon.”  
  
Dean nodded then watched Dr Daniels walk away before pushing opening up the door, walking in. He smiled at Sam, who was watching him, eyes tiny slits. “You awake?” he asked softly, closing the door.  
  
Sam groaned and nodded weakly, shifting on the bed. “Going on?” he mumbled, trying to open his eyes.  
  
“Shh,” Dean said, sitting down beside the bed. “You don’t have to talk. Say hi to Mommy, Dyl, say hi to Mommy.”  
  
Sam tried to smile, but he looked pretty out of it to Dean. “How’d it go?” he asked softly, eyes fluttering. “Talk to the doc?” He began to laugh softly for no reason. “Doc,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Doc and Dopey and Sneezy. Man, that Sneezy. He was _wild_. Snow White was whore.”  
  
Dean nodded and smiled down at Sam. “He said it went well.”  
  
Sam’s eyes brightened and he grinned as best he could. “Yeah?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah. He said it went well and you’re going to live and that he thinks you’re going to be able to use your hand again.”  
  
Sam sighed in relief. “That’s great. Yay me!”  
  
Dean nodded again and leaned down, giving Sam a kiss. “And Monday morning, you’re out of here. Just a nice weekend in the hospital.”  
  
“It’s like a vacation,” Sam mumbled. “You staying?”  
  
Dean nodded. “At least until tonight, till Dylan gets fussy. I want him to sleep in his own room.”  
  
Sam nodded, before reaching up to rub at his face, head lolling over slightly. “I don’t like the drugs, but the drugs like me.” He grinned and began to giggle.  
  
Dean snorted and began to laugh, shaking his head. “You’re quite the character, Sam.”  
  
Sam just kept on giggling and pretty soon, Dylan started in too.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam practically stumbled in the door, glancing back at Dean, who was trying to juggle Dylan, his diaper bag and Sam’s duffle. “You okay?” he called.  
  
“Fine!” Dean called back, thinking that right now would be a great time for Dylan to start walking. Maybe learn to carry a duffle bag too. “Just fine, aren’t we, Dylan?” He kissed Dylan forehead, grinning down at him. “Yes, just fine.”  
  
Sam turned around and reached out, taking Dylan’s diaper bag from Dean. “My hand hurts,” he whined, looking at Dean. “Can I have more pills?”  
  
“Sam,” Dean said warningly. “Not again.”  
  
Sam’s nose wrinkled in confusion for a couple seconds before he finally realized what Dean meant. “Oh! No, Dean! No, no, I’m not-- I’m not addicted to them or anything. They help. Really help, it’s not-- it’s not because I’m crazy or anything, my hand hurts.”  
  
“In a couple minutes then,” Dean answered, trying to close the porch door behind him. “Just let me put Dylan down and I’ll get you a glass of water. You should probably go lay down or something, on the couch.”  
  
Sam nodded slowly before he sat down at the table, untying his sneakers. He toed them off then managed to get into the living room before almost tripping.  
  
“Please don’t fall on your hand,” Dean said, walking by Sam to go down the hall to Dylan’s nursery.   
  
Sam nodded and sat down on the couch, smiling to himself as he curled up on the couch. “I love you, Dean!” he called, lifting his head.  
  
Dean smiled as he laid Dylan down in his crib, leaning in to give him a kiss. “Nap time, Dylan. Go to sleep, ‘kay?” He kissed him again. “Kay.” He reached in and fixed Dylan’s blanket. “I love you too, Sam,” he replied, walking back out into the living room. “You okay?”  
  
Sam nodded. “My hand.”  
  
“Right,” Dean nodded, snapping his fingers. “I’ll go get the pills.”  
  
Sam shook his head and reached out to Dean. “I don’t want any. Just lay down with me?”  
  
Dean studied Sam for a second, making sure he was serious and nodded, going over to the couch. “Alright, how do you wanna do this?”  
  
Sam dropped one of his legs off the couch and Dean smiled, laying down between Sam’s legs, laying his head on Sam’s chest. “Was Dylan okay this weekend?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, he was good. I would’ve stayed with you Sammy, but--”  
  
Sam shook his head, groaning softly. “It’s fine. I understand. Who said I wanted you hanging around there all weekend with me anyway?”  
  
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.” He sighed and settled against Sam’s chest, smiling. “I’m glad to have you home. I don’t like sleeping alone.”  
  
Sam smiled. “Me either.” He looked down at his arm in the sling, in a plastic splint, just has it had been after it was broken. “It’s not really pain, just kind of throbbing,” he murmured, not really to Dean, not really to himself.   
  
Dean shifted on the couch, shifted on Sam and ducked his head, kissing Sam’s hand as gently as he could. “Get some sleep, Sammy. Dylan’s napping, we got all the time in the world.”  
  
“I’ve been sleeping since Friday,” Sam muttered, but he closed his eyes anyway, wrapping his other arm around Dean, keeping him close. “Love you.”  
  
Dean took a deep breath and nodded, rubbing his cheek against Sam’s shirt, shifting again.   
  
 

*** * * ***

  
“You okay for me to go to work?” Dean asked, leaning over Sam.  
  
Sam nodded and yawned, stretching his legs. “M’kay.”  
  
Dean grinned and leaned down, giving Sam a quick kiss. “I should be home around…six-thirty, the usual, yeah?”  
  
Sam nodded again. “Yeah.”  
  
“Hand okay?” Dean asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam breathed, lifting his hand off his chest. “Still healing, I think. I hope. But it feels better than it did, before.”  
  
“Good,” Dean said, kissing Sam again. “Dylan’s still asleep, so I’d try getting some more shut-eye. He’s kind of fussy, lately. Gettin’ an ego, or something.” He glanced down at his watch. “Oop, I’d better get going. Don’t wanna be late. Have fun, ‘kay?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Bye.”  
  
Dean stood up and walked quickly out of the bedroom, glancing back towards the hallway. “Bye, Dylan!” he called, before grabbing his keys and jacket.  
  
Sam yawned again, rolling over onto his side. He groaned softly and smacked his lips, rolling onto his stomach, right arm above his head. He closed his eyes and could feel himself about to drift back to sleep, before Dylan’s cries came in through the baby monitor. He groaned again and shook his head, pushing himself up. “Coming, Dylan!” he yelled, swinging his legs off the bed. “God,” he muttered, shaking his head. He walked out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes. “Coming,” he said again, walking down the hall. He grinned the second he saw Dylan, walking over to his crib. “Hi, Dylan, hi. What’s going on? You okay? You hungry?”  
  
Dylan calmed down once Sam was with him, hand on his stomach. He reached up and whined, pouting.  
  
“Learn that pout from Mommy, didn’t ya?” Sam smiled, leaning down to awkwardly pick Dylan up, holding him to his chest. “It’s okay, Dyl, Mommy’s here. Mommy’s here.”  
  
Dylan looked down at Sam’s splint before looking back up at Sam. “Mama.”  
  
Sam’s eyes widened and he looked at Dylan in disbelief, not sure he heard what he thought he heard. “Dylan?” he said softly, studying his son.  
  
Dylan began squirming in Sam’s arms, flapping his arms. “Mama!” he screeched, squirming even more.  
  
Sam grinned and his eyes began to fill with tears, swallowing hard. “Yeah, Dylan, Mama’s here.”  
 

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 29  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** Dean finds something old buried in the closet; Sam comes down with a mysterious illness  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

  
**eleven months and three days old**  
  
“It’s getting warm again,” Sam said quietly, shifting Dylan on his hip. “Did we get any new clothes that aren’t for winter?” He turned to look at Dean. “I don’t wanna wear jeans on a nice day like this.”  
  
Dean sighed. “Sammy, I don’t do shorts.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say I wanted you to wear shorts Dean, I said that _I_ didn’t want to wear jeans. Did we buy any shorts? Did anything like that survive the fire?”  
  
Dean sighed again and pressed a kiss to the top of Dylan’s head, ruffling his hair. “I’ll go check the closet.” He turned away from the living room window and walked over to the master bedroom, going to the closet. He dropped to his knees and began pulling out boxes, not sure what exactly had survived the fire and what else they had bought afterwards. “Stupid Sammy,” Dean muttered, opening the first box, only to find some of Sam’s books. “Dean, go find me shorts, I don’t wanna wear my jeans on such a nice day,” he continued on, opening up the next box. “Too-small baby clothes,” he muttered, reaching for the next box. He opened it and frowned. “What’s Sammy still doing with this?” He took the breast pump out, examining it. “Give me a couple more minutes, Sam!” he called, leaning back.  
  
Sam smiled down at Dylan, giving him a kiss. “Let’s go get you dressed Dylan, while Daddy’s looking for Mommy’s shorts.” He walked away from the window, going down the hall to the nursery, going to Dylan’s dresser. “What does Dylan wanna wear today?” he asked, shifting Dylan on his hip again. “What’s your favourite color, Pickle?”  
  
Dean leaned back again, making sure Sam wasn’t hanging out around the doorway and squeezed the pump, looking at it. “I can’t believe Sam used this thing,” Dean said softly, chuckling. He lifted up his shirt and put the pump up to his chest, squeezing the pump once. “Hmm,” Dean murmured, holding the pump up again. Dean rolled his eyes, not really believing what he was about to do. “I _have_ to,” he said softly, “this is going to be awesome.” He held the pump up to his forehead and pumped, wincing slightly. Then, he pumped again. He grinned, even though he could feel the pump squeezing his skin. “Oh, Sammy!” he called, standing up.  
  
“Find my shorts?” Sam asked, laying Dylan down in the crib. “Be right back, Dylan,” he said, going down the hall. Sam’s jaw dropped when he saw Dean, leaning against the door frame of the bedroom. “Jesus Christ, Dean,” he said, walking over to him.  
  
Dean tilted his head to see Sam better from under the breast pump, grinning. “What do ya think?”  
  
Sam just stared at Dean. “I think you’re an idiot, among other things. What the hell were you doing?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, thought it’d be pretty funny.”  
  
Sam shook his head and stepped closer to Dean, studying his forehead. “Dean, you need to get that off. Now.”  
  
Dean looked up at Sam. “Why? What’s wrong?”  
  
Sam sighed and reached up, pulling the pump off of Dean’s forehead, jaw dropping again before he started to laugh.  
  
“What?” Dean asked. “What’s wrong?”  
  
Sam just laughed even harder, shaking his head. “Oh my god, Dean.” He grabbed onto Dean’s hand and led him into the bathroom, shoving him in front of the mirror.  
  
On Dean’s forehead, was the beginnings of a purple-blue bruise, in a perfect circle. “Oh my god!” Dean exclaimed, rubbing his forehead. “Sam, Sammy, make it go away.” He looked up at Sam. “Sam,” he whined. “Sam, make it go away.” He looked back at the mirror and he looked completely heartbroken.  
  
Sam’s grin disappeared to just a small smile and he wrapped his arms around Dean shoulders, pulling him in. “Oh, Dean, it’s okay. I still think you’re pretty.” He tried not to start laughing again, but failed miserably.  
  
Dean shoved Sam away from him, glaring up at him. “Sam, it’s not funny!”  
  
Sam laughed. “Oh, it’s definitely hilarious. You stuck a breast pump to your head!”  
  
Dean groaned and walked away from Sam, going back into the bedroom. “You find your own damn shorts. I need to find a hat.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean rolled his eyes and pulled [the beanie](http://i168.photobucket.com/albums/u190/lwlhdcharacters/Jen18.jpg) down even further over his forehead. “You and your ugly hats,” Dean snapped, looking up at Sam.  
  
“You and your ugly bruise,” Sam said softly, studying the shelves of movies. “Now come on, what do you wanna rent?”  
  
Dean shrugged, looking around the store. “People can tell. People can see the bruise.”  
  
“Dean, I already told you that they can’t,” Sam reminded him. “You’ve got that hat yanked down far enough. Which is probably the reason why they’re looking at you. You look like if you pull it down any further you’re gonna pull out a gun and tell everybody to hit the floor.”  
  
“Why did you even keep that thing?” Dean asked, grabbing a movie off the shelf, reading the back. “You don’t need it anymore.”  
  
Sam shrugged, taking the movie from Dean. “I don’t know. It’s not like I was using it or anything; it was in a box, in our closet. Maybe I just didn’t see the point in throwing it out.”  
  
Dean sighed and stepped between Sam and the movie rack, looking up at him. “Are we planning on having another baby?”  
  
Sam looked at Dean in confusion. “What? No. Are we planning on having another baby?”  
  
“Well why would you keep that thing around if you weren’t planning on using it again?” Dean asked, looking down at Dylan, asleep in his stroller. “Do you want another kid?”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “And how exactly are we supposed to have this other kid? Maybe--” he sighed and thought for a moment, “I just kind of wanted to remember that I used to take care of him, like that. I mean now, anybody can feed him. I like to remember that I used to be the only one who could. He didn’t take the bottle for a few days, you know.” He sighed. “And yeah, maybe I do want another kid sometime,” he said softly.  
  
Dean smiled sympathetically, nodding slowly.  
  
“But I don’t see that as a possibility,” Sam finished. “Okay? Will you just move, so we can rent a movie?”  
  
Dean sighed and stepped out of the way, crouching in front of the stroller, smiling at Dylan. “Still sleeping, Pickle?” he asked softly, reaching in to fix Dylan’s blankie. Dean looked up when he felt someone watching over his shoulder. “Uh, hi.”  
  
Sam turned around and half-smiled at the woman who was looking down at Dylan. “Hi.”  
  
The woman smiled. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help myself. He’s yours?”  
  
Sam and Dean both nodded, before Dean stood back up and Sam turned back around.  
  
“He’s gorgeous,” the woman said, looking up at Dean.  
  
“Thank you,” Dean nodded.   
  
The woman looked down again, smiling as Dylan cooed in his sleep, stirring. “Just gorgeous.” She nodded once at Sam and Dean before continuing on her way.  
  
Dean watched as she walked away, frowning. “Sam, did you see that tail?”  
  
Sam groaned and looked over at Dean. “Oh, that’s great, Dean.” He rolled his eyes.  
  
Dean glared at Sam. “No, Sam, like a literal tail. You didn’t see that?”  
  
“Obviously not,” Sam muttered, grabbing another movie off the shelf. “Maybe it was just like, a purse or something. Or you’re a lot stupider than I thought you were.”   
  
Dean sighed and thought for a moment. “Yeah, maybe. I mean, maybe it was just a purse or something, I’m not stupid.”  
  
Sam smiled. “Maybe not. Okay, so, we’re getting _The Omen_ , yeah?”  
  
“Remake or original?” Dean asked, crouching back down by the stroller, thumbing Dylan’s tiny hand.  
  
“Does it matter? They had the exact same script,” Sam pointed out, shoving the DVD case in Dean’s face. “Original, duh. So yeah?”  
  
“Yep,” Dean agreed, standing back up. “I am going to get you to rent _The Dead Zone_ someday, you know. I think that you and Johnny have a lot in common.”  
  
Sam snorted and laughed softly. “Yeah, right. No, I’m quite happy with _The Omen_ , thank you. Now come on, we gotta grab a few other things.”  
  
Dean nodded and started pushing the stroller, following closely beside Sam. “I always feel so weird when people compliment Dylan. I never know what to say. ‘Why yes, he is quite the handsome devil, takes after me’.”  
  
Sam began laughing again, shaking his head.  
  
“Or, ‘Really? I always thought he looked kind of funny’,” Dean continued on, smiling as Sam laughed even harder. “Okay, what about, ‘I’ll tell your mom you think so’.” He grinned up at Sam.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes but kept on laughing, before he shoved Dean playfully. “You look like an idiot with that hat on.”  
  
Dean shoved him right back, still grinning. “What do I care, it’s your hat.”  
  
Sam stopped laughing and reached over, grabbing the hat, pulling it off Dean’s head.  
  
Dean let go of the stroller and his hands shot right up to his forehead, covering the bruise. “Sammy, you ass, give me that hat back.”  
  
Sam studied Dean carefully, before pulling the hat on his own head. “Now I know I look damn sexy with this on.”  
  
Dean glared at Sam and reached up and pulled the hat off, leaving Sam’s hair sticking up and frizzy. “Nice look, Hat Hair. _Damn_ sexy.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam groaned softly and sighed, head lolling around on Dean’s lap.  
  
“You still awake, Sammy?” Dean asked, shifting Dylan against his chest.  
  
“Yup,” Sam answered, looking up just in time to see Dylan’s foot step on his forehead. “Christ,” he muttered, trying not to get hit as Dylan kicked again. “Keep a hold of your kid, would ya?” he said, sitting up, curling up against Dean.  
  
Dean snorted, not taking his eyes off the screen. “So that’s how it works, huh?”  
  
“Yup,” Sam said again. “When he’s good, he’s mine. When he’s kicking me in the head, I had nothing to do with him.”  
  
“Dylan, say sorry to your mama,” Dean said softly, nuzzling Dylan’s cheek.  
  
“Mama,” Dylan said softly, reaching out to grab at Sam’s hair.   
  
Sam’s face broke out into a huge grin. “I like hearing that. ‘Mama’. He knows who I am.”  
  
Dean grinned and shifted, pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. “Course he does. Knows who both of us are.”  
  
Sam tilted his head back, looking at Dean. “I’m sorry he didn’t say ‘Dada’ first.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “No, you’re not. You love the fact that he said ‘Mama’ first. Hell, I do too. After everything you’ve been through…you deserve that.” He kissed Sam again.  
  
Sam sighed and snuggled in closely to Dean, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out at Dylan. “Who’s that, Dylan? Who’s that? Can you say Dada? Can you say Dada for Mama, Dylan?”  
  
Dylan looked up at Dean, tongue sticking slightly out, breathing heavily. “Da.”  
  
Sam leaned down, kissing Dylan’s head before ruffling his hair. “Close enough, Dylan.”  
  
Dean leaned back into the couch, settling in, going back to the movie. “I always loved this movie.”  
  
Sam laid his head down on Dean’s chest, watching Dylan. “But?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “But it just bothers me now. Now that I have a son of my own.”  
  
“Dylan is no Damien,” Sam pointed out.  
  
_“Not yet,”_ Dean thought, remembering what Shax had told him in Virginia. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he lied, trying to smile. “You tired of this movie yet?”  
  
Sam shrugged before groaning as he stretched his long legs, nodding. “Yeah, I guess.” He reached out and grabbed the remote, turning the DVD player off. “What do you wanna do now?”  
  
Dean shrugged, taking a deep breath. “Give Dyl his bath, go to bed, I guess.”  
  
Sam nodded and stood up, turning around to lift Dylan out of Dean’s arms. “Come on Dyl, let’s go get the bath ready. Want a bath? Baby boy want a bath?” He grasped onto Dylan’s hand, wiggling it, causing Dylan to grin up at him. “We gotta beat Daddy, Dyl, gotta beat Daddy to the bathroom.” Sam glanced behind him as Dean stood up and he began running playfully into the bathroom.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and followed behind Sam, leaning against the door frame as Sam set Dylan down on the floor, before turning on the tap. “How’s your hand feel?” Dean asked, pushing himself off the door to step closer to Sam.   
  
Sam stood up and let Dean take his right hand in his. “Okay,” Sam said softly, flexing his fingers in Dean’s.  
  
Dean smiled and looked up at Sam. “You can move your fingers again.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah. It’s a nice feeling.” He flexed his fingers again and grinned. “I mean, they’re not as good as they were before, but--”  
  
Dean shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Sammy, it doesn’t. That you can do this is amazing.”  
  
Sam blushed and ducked his head, looking away from Dean. “I wouldn’t say that.”  
  
Dean reached up and cupped Sam’s cheek, making him look back at him. “I would. Okay?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Okay.” He smiled down at Dylan, who was crawling around on the floor, smiling up at his parents. He crouched down, lifting Dylan back up, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub. “Check the water, Dylan, let’s check the water.” He reached down and dipped his hand in the warm water, cupping it in his hand.   
  
Dylan’s eyes opened wide and he slapped his hand against Sam’s, sending the water onto his arm and Sam’s lap.   
  
“Too cold?” Sam asked, before pretending to shiver. “Too warm?”  
  
Dylan curled up against Sam’s chest and stuck his thumb in his mouth. He sighed and his eyes closed, head lolling over to the side to lean against Sam’s arm.  
  
“I think he’s tired,” Sam said quietly, looking up at Dean. “Maybe we should skip the bath, just put him to bed.”  
  
Dean sighed and nodded, reaching down to turn off the tap, before pulling out the plug. “Alright Dylan, time for bed.” He lifted Dylan out of Sam’s arms and rubbed his back softly, shushing him as he walked out of the bathroom.  
  
Sam wiped his hand off on his pants and stood up, turning off the bathroom light. He yawned softly to himself and padded on the floor behind Dean and Dylan, following them down to the nursery. “Is he asleep already?”  
  
Dean glanced down and nodded, smiling. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Gotta get his clothes off, without waking him up.” He shifted Dylan in his arms carefully, reaching down to tug at Dylan’s pants, trying not to wake him. Finally, the pants were off and Dean dropped them onto Dylan’s dresser. “Get something for him to sleep in, yeah?”  
  
Sam nodded and went over to the dresser, opening the top drawer. He glanced back to see Dean trying to pull Dylan’s shirt off, smiling to himself. “We’re gonna wake him up, you know.”  
  
Dean shook his head, finally managing to wiggle the shirt off of Dylan. “Nope. Definitely not. Now hurry up, before he gets cold and--”  
  
“Wakes up?” Sam finished, smiling as he handed Dean a small, white t-shirt.   
  
Dean rolled his eyes and managed to get the collar to pop over Dylan’s head before Dylan began stirring and Dean frowned. “How are we gonna get his arms in?” he asked softly, studying Dylan closely. “Hold ‘em for me, will ya?” he asked, handing Dylan over to Sam.   
  
“He’s waking up,” Sam said softly, grasping onto Dylan’s arm to help Dean get the shirt on.   
  
“Oh calm down, Sam,” Dean muttered, pulling the other sleeve down. “Now just put him in the crib.”  
  
“Dean, he doesn’t have any pants on!” Sam whispered harshly. “Put something on him, come on.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and lifted Dylan back out of Sam’s hands, laying him down gently in his crib. “Just pull the blankie up,” he said softly, fixing the blanket on Dylan. “There, no pants, no problem.” He leaned down and gave Dylan a kiss, pulling his thumb out of his mouth.   
  
“Here,” Sam said quietly, handing Dean one of Dylan’s stuffed animals.  
  
“Here ya go, Dill Pickle,” Dean whispered, laying the toy down by Dylan. “Good night, baby.”  
  
Sam leaned down and kissed Dylan, fixing his blanket. “Sleep tight.” He stepped back and wrapped his arms around himself, walking down the hallway.  
  
Dean smiled down at Dylan and followed Sam out of the nursery, leaving the door open a couple of inches. “Bed?” he asked softly, reaching out to Sam’s shoulder.  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah.” He yawned and stumbled a bit, reaching his arms out quickly.  
  
“Are you okay, Sammy?” Dean asked, rushing to Sam’s side, holding onto him. “Sam, are you okay?”  
  
Sam nodded even as he eyes fluttered closed and he swayed on his feet. “Kind-- kind of just nauseated.”  
  
“Can you make it to bed, or are you just gonna collapse right here?” Dean asked, tightening his hold on Sam.  
  
Sam sighed and laid his head on Dean’s shoulder, groaning softly. “Take me to bed,” he pleaded softly.   
  
Dean frowned, but began walking Sam to the bedroom slowly. “This came on pretty fast.”  
  
Sam nodded weakly and gripped at Dean’s arms, stumbling again.   
  
“Shit,” Dean muttered, trying not too trip over Sam’s long legs. “Sam, just move your feet, okay? Come on, just make it to the bedroom.” Dean managed to keep Sam upright until they got into the bedroom and Sam stumbled again, falling this time, landing on his ass with a small groan. “Okay, Sammy, look at me,” Dean said, cupping Sam’s cheeks, crouching in front of him. “Sam, what’s wrong with your pupils?”  
  
Sam shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know. I just-- I just wanna sleep. I’m tired, Dean, just let me sleep.”  
  
Dean pressed his hand to Sam’s forehead, and it didn’t feel like he had a fever. He wasn’t cold, or clammy or trembling or _anything_. “Yeah, okay. Come on, get up on the bed.” He helped Sam stand up and take the couple more steps to the bed, watching Sam crawl weakly into the middle of the bed. “Under the covers would be better, but okay.” He sat down the edge of the bed and undid Sam’s jeans, pulling them off. “Sam, under the sheets, please?”  
  
Sam looked up at Dean sadly, pupils completely blown and struggled to get off the bed, lifting up the sheets. He collapsed back on the bed and curled up, pulling on the sheets.  
  
“God, Sam,” Dean muttered, brushing Sam’s hair off his forehead. “Get to sleep, okay?”  
  
Sam didn’t answer, just stirred under the sheets, already breathing deeply, as if he was already sleeping.  
  
Dean swallowed hard and stood up, going over to the other side of the bed. He stripped off his shirt and pushed down his jeans, crawling into bed alongside him. He took a deep breath and sighed, rolling onto his side, studying Sam carefully. He _was_ already asleep, and he didn’t look uncomfortable either. Dean frowned and leaned over, pressing a kiss to Sam’s temple, letting his own eyes drift closed.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean groaned and let out a deep breath, feeling himself drift awake. He wasn’t sure exactly why; it didn’t seem like he had been asleep that long. Once his mind was clear and he was back to himself, he could hear Dylan’s loud sobbing and screams over the baby monitor. Dean shot up in bed and reached over, shaking Sam’s shoulder before he remembered that Sam was sick. He was about to climb out of the bed before he realized the usually light sleeper Sam hadn’t even made a noise yet. Dean frowned and leaned down, making sure Sam was breathing first. “Sam?” he asked, shaking him again. “Sam?” he asked again, loudly.  
  
Sam didn’t even flinch, eyes didn’t move, nothing about him changed.  
  
“Christ,” Dean muttered, shifting on the bed to get above Sam, shaking him. “Sam? Sam, can you hear me?” He lightly slapped Sam’s cheek. “Sam! Sam, wake up!”  
  
At this point, Dylan’s cries disappeared from the baby monitor and the nursery was quiet once again, but Dean didn’t notice, as he was still trying to wake Sam up.   
  
“Sam?” Dean asked softly, brushing Sam’s hair away from his eyes. “Sammy, can you hear me?”  
  
Sam groaned and his eyes opened, pupils back to normal, looking up at Dean. “Dean, what’s going on?” he asked, voice scratchy.  
  
“You wouldn’t wake up,” Dean explained, laying back down beside him.  
  
“When did we go to bed?” Sam asked, sitting up to look around the room, glancing down at the clock.   
  
Dean frowned and lifted his head. “What are you talking about? We went to bed right after we put Dylan down, you pretty much passed out.”  
  
It was Sam’s turn to frown. “I remember we put Dylan down. I remember that part. But what do you mean, ‘passed out’? I got sick?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, you started stumbling all over the place, eyes got all wide…you don’t remember any of it? You said you felt nauseous.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “I gave Dylan his T-Rex, and we said goodnight, and that’s the last thing I remember.” He laid back down on his side, watching Dean. “What do you think’s wrong with me?”  
  
Dean shook his head, leaning in to give Sam a kiss. “I don’t know. God, I have no friggin’ idea. Just-- let’s just go back to sleep, try and figure it out in the morning. I don’t know.”  
  
Sam nodded and snuggled in closer to Dean, closing his eyes. “I feel fine now, if that’s important.”  
  
Dean nodded. “It is. Get back to sleep, Sammy.”  
  
Sam nodded and yawned.  
  
Dean closed his eyes, completely forgetting about the reason he had woken up in the first place, Dylan's soft breathing coming in over the baby monitor.  
  
 

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 30  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter  
**Summary:** Sam and Dean realize that's something wrong with Dylan, and they turn to the only man they can think of: Bobby.  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.   
 

 

  
**eleven months and seven days old**  
  
“Ouch!” Sam cried softly, yanking his hand back from Dylan’s crib. “I’m gonna clip your nails if you do that again, Dylan,” he chastised, glaring down at Dylan, who was just smiling up at him, green eyes bright. “That hurt,” he muttered, bringing his finger up to his mouth, sucking off the small amount of blood. He reached down again and lifted Dylan out of his crib, holding him up to his chest. “You a little fussy, Dylan? Why’d you scratch Mama?”  
  
Dylan pouted up at Sam, reaching up to run his fingers over Sam’s cheek, watching him in wonder. “Mama,” he said, shaking his head, looking down at the floor.  
  
Sam smiled and kissed the top of Dylan’s head, ruffling his hair. “That’s right, I’m your mama. Now when are you gonna start saying Daddy?”  
  
Dylan lifted his head and smiled. “Dada,” he said simply. “Mama Dada.”  
  
Sam grinned and turned around, going down the hallway. “Can you say it again? Mama wants to call Daddy at work, can you say it for him? Dada.”  
  
“Dada,” Dylan said again.  
  
Sam grabbed his cell phone and quickly dialed Dean’s phone, swaying back and forth as the phone rang.  
  
“Hello?” Dean asked, gesturing towards the debit machine, nodding at his customer.  
  
“Well Loverboy, have I got a surprise for you,” Sam smiled.  
  
Dean frowned. “Who is this?”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, you know who this is. Now shut up and listen.”  
  
“Fine, fine,” Dean muttered, trying to find the biggest sized bag they had there.  
  
“Okay,” Sam said, before shifting Dylan and placing his phone down by Dylan’s mouth. “Daddy, Dylan; it’s Daddy on the phone.”  
  
“Dada!” Dylan squealed. “Dada.”  
  
Dean grinned and straightened up. “Did he really just say that?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, he did. Just now, for the first time. He said ‘Mama’ and ‘Dada’. He can talk to both of us now.”  
  
Dean’s grin grew even bigger. “He just said Dada. Dylan just said Dada.” Dean took his phone away from his mouth and threw his hands up in the hair. “My son just said Dada!” he cheered, causing everyone in the store to look at him.   
  
Sam laughed, giving Dylan a kiss.   
  
Dean brought his phone back to his ear. “I love you, Mama.”  
  
“Love you too, Dada.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean rubbed his face and groaned as he stretched his arms out above his head. He stifled his yawn and shifted on the bed, looking over at Sam, who was still asleep, laying on his stomach, head resting on his arms. Dean leaned over and pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead, before sitting up, swinging his legs off the bed. He walked into the bathroom, scratching at his five o’clock shadow. He went over to the toilet and relieved himself, before washing his hands. He walked back out of the bathroom and grabbed his t-shirt off the edge of his bed, pulling it on as he walked out of the bedroom, going down to Dylan’s nursery. “Hey, Dill Pickle,” Dean said softly, going over to the crib.  
  
“Hi Daddy,” Dylan said, looking up at Dean.  
  
Dean’s jaw dropped and he looked down at Dylan in shock. “Uh…what?”  
  
“Daddy,” Dylan whined, reaching up to Dean, squirming on his back.  
  
Dean began slowly backing away from the crib, pinching his arm. “I’m awake,” he said in disbelief. “I’m awake. I’m awake and Dylan is speaking sentences.” He finally bumped into the dresser, knocking over a couple of the stuffed toys they kept there. “Dylan?” he asked quietly, waiting to hear Dylan’s answer.  
  
Dylan began simply babbling, whining and reaching up to Dean. “Dada,” he cried, kicking his tiny feet.  
  
Dean took a deep breath and walked back over to the crib, looking down at Dylan. “I just heard him wrong, is all.” He leaned down and picked Dylan up, studying him carefully. “Your eyes…” Dean observed softly. “They’re brown.” Dean shook his head and blinked; when he looked again, Dylan’s eyes were back to green. “Am I high?” Dean asked himself, studying Dylan again. “Okay, let’s just go get you breakfast. Are you hungry?”  
  
Dylan nodded eagerly and shoved his thumb in his mouth, resting his head against Dean’s shoulder.  
  
“Okay,” Dean said, walking back out of the nursery, going to the kitchen. “Daddy brought some bananas home yesterday, so let’s get ya one of those, mash it up. Yeah?” Dean walked over and grabbed a banana off the counter, shifting Dylan so he could peel it. “Lemme get a bowl and then we can mash it up together. You like bananas, right Dylan?”  
  
Dylan began wiggling in Dean’s arms, grabbing at the banana.   
  
Dean grabbed a tablespoon and sat down at the table, trying to keep Dylan on his lap. He dropped the banana in the bowl and began mashing it up with the spoon. “Okay, your turn, Pickle.” He offered Dylan the spoon.  
  
Dylan’s eyes opened wide at the spoon and he reached out, clenching in his hands in tiny fists as he began to hit the banana. “Ba! Ba! Ba!” he squealed with every hit.   
  
Dean began laughing and started mashing it with the spoon again. “Mash mash,” he said, before nuzzling Dylan’s cheek, tickling his sides.  
  
Dylan began laughing and squealing, wiggling in Dean’s arms again. “Ma!” he screamed, clapping his banana-covered hands. He stuck his fingers in his mouth, before clapping again.  
  
“Okay, all done,” Dean said, shifting Dylan again. He got a spoonful of banana and offered it to Dylan, who ate it eagerly. “Yay, Dylan! Yummy, yummy.” He gave Dylan another spoonful, before sticking a couple of fingers into the bowl, getting some banana for himself. He looked up when he heard a bang against the wall, just to see Sam leaning there, wearing boxers and a way-too-big hoodie. “Banana?” he asked, offering the spoon out to Sam, causing Dylan to reach up towards it.  
  
Sam shook his head and walked over to the coffee pot, sniffing the caffeine. “Mm, god, coffee.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “You sleep okay?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Not so much. Oh well.” He sniffed the caffeine again.   
  
“Sure you don’t want any banana?” Dean asked, glancing down at Dylan, giving him the spoon again. “It’s yummy, isn’t it, Dylan, isn’t it?”  
  
“What about you?” Sam asked, finally walking over to the refrigerator to get the orange juice, pouring himself a glass. “Sleep okay?”  
  
Dean frowned to himself, thinking. “Sam, if I told you something that sounds _completely_ insane, what would you say to me?”  
  
Sam shrugged, walking over to the table. “I don’t know. It depends on what you told me. What are you going to tell me?”  
  
Dean sighed. “When I walked into the nursery today, I said, ‘Hey, Dill Pickle’.”  
  
Sam gasped loudly, clutching at his chest. “You’re right, that _is_ completely insane. You should talk to Dr Tanner.”  
  
Dean glared at Sam. “Bitch.”  
  
“Jerk,” Sam retorted, taking a drink. “So then what happened?”  
  
“Dylan answered me,” Dean replied, “with a ‘Hi, Daddy’.”  
  
Sam swallowed hard, and looked at Dean like he was an idiot. “Well, um, I don’t think that’s possible, Dean. We’re lucky we’ve already gotten ‘mama’ and ‘dada’ out of him.”  
  
“Then when I looked at him, his eyes were brown,” Dean continued on.   
  
Sam frowned and looked down at Dylan, studying him. “Well, his eyes are green now, Dean. It was just a trick of the light, or something.”  
  
Dean nodded. “I don’t know, I mean, the eyes, sure, but he said ‘Hi, Daddy’. That’s a sentence and I heard him say it.”  
  
“Has he said anything since?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair.   
  
Dean shook his head. “Dada, Ma, Ba. Not much. I don’t know, I guess I was still just half-asleep or something. But god, it was weird. Has anything like that happened to you?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Other than the slight memory loss and mysterious illness last week?” He smiled weakly. “No, nothing. You must’ve just been tired.”  
  
Dean gave Dylan another spoonful before kissing the top of his head, looking around for something to wipe Dylan’s mouth with. “I gotta go have a shower before work, so will you finish feeding him?” He pushed his chair back from the table, standing up.  
  
Sam nodded and set his glass down, reaching out to take Dylan, who instantly curled into the extra fabric of Sam’s huge sweater, head resting on Sam’s shoulder. Sam smiled and grabbed the bowl, pulling it closer to him. “Alright, Mommy’s turn. You gonna be as good for Mommy as you were for Daddy?”  
  
Dylan shook his head and turned his head, biting Sam.  
  
“Ow!” Sam cried, pulling back from Dylan. He reached up, rubbing his neck comfortingly, making sure Dylan hadn’t drawn blood. “Christ, Dylan, what’s gotten into you? Ow.” He rubbed his neck again, frowning down at Dylan. “Now come on, finish eating.”  
  
Dylan giggled and looked up at Sam, opening his mouth for the spoon.  
  
“That was a bad thing to do,” Sam said quietly but sternly, running his fingers through Dylan’s hair. “Bad. Okay? Do you understand? Bad.” He kissed the top of Dylan’s head, taking a deep breath as Dylan took another spoonful. “You hurt Mommy, Dylan.”  
  
“Mama,” Dylan said, reaching up with his sticky banana-covered fingers.  
  
“Yeah, Mama,” Sam breathed, rubbing Dylan’s stomach. “What did you say to Daddy this morning? Daddy told me you said something to him. What’d you say?”  
  
“Hi, Daddy,” Dylan replied, trying to get out of Sam’s hold to get closer to the bowl.   
  
Sam’s eyes widened and he tightened his hold on Dylan, staring down at him. “Holy shit,” he muttered under his breath. “Jesus.”  
  
“Wa nana!” Dylan screamed, reaching out to the bowl. “Wa nana!”  
  
“Want more banana?” Sam asked, bringing the bowl closer before he realized Dylan shouldn’t’ve said that either. “Dylan, what the hell is going on with you?”  
  
Dylan flapped his arms and wiggled again, digging his nails into Sam’s hand.  
  
“Dylan!” Sam cried, jerking his hand away. “Don’t!” Sam dropped the spoon onto the table and stood up quickly, going into the living room. He set Dylan down in his playpen, slapping Dylan’s fingers. “No, Dylan, don’t do that.” He stood up and took a couple steps before he realized that Dylan was still covered in banana. “Crap,” he muttered, turning around to pick Dylan up again. “Okay, come on, Dylan.” He rushed to the bathroom, not knocking before opening the door, yanking aside the shower curtain.  
  
“Sam!” Dean yelled in surprise, jumping. “What the hell?”  
  
Sam shifted Dylan to get his hands under the spray, hoping Dean had gotten over his penchant for nearly scalding hot showers. “He bit me,” Sam said, cleaning Dylan’s fingers. “And then, he dug his nails into me.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Maybe he has a tummy ache.” He stuck his head under the spray, rinsing the shampoo out.   
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “And then, jokingly, I asked him what he said to you this morning.”  
  
Dean nodded, not really paying any attention to Sam.  
  
“He answered me!” Sam cried. “Hi, Daddy!”  
  
Dean’s head lolled over to look at Sam. “I knew I wasn’t crazy. I bet his eyes were really brown, too.”  
  
Sam pulled Dylan out from under the spray and grabbed a towel, sitting down on the toilet. “Lemme see your hands, Dylan,” Sam said, drying off Dylan’s hands and wiping off his mouth. “Dean, what the hell is going on?”  
  
Dean didn’t answer, just stood under the spray, rinsing off. He dropped his head stood for a couple seconds longer before turning off the water. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist as he stepped out of the shower, shaking his head. “I have no idea, Sam. I mean, it’s weird, it’s like he’s getting older or smarter or something by the minute.”  
  
“Meaner too,” Sam muttered. He lifted his head, looking up at Dean. “He doesn’t bite you!”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m sure it’s nothing personal, Sam.” He grabbed his toothbrush and the toothpaste.  
  
“You didn’t eat yet,” Sam pointed out, standing up, holding Dylan up to his chest.  
  
Dean shrugged, trying to keep the foam from running down his chin. He spit and looked at Sam. “Later.” He began brushing again, humming to himself.  
  
“Dean, I don’t think you’re seeing the seriousness of the situation here,” Sam snapped, standing up. “Hey Dylan, why don’t you show Daddy what you did.”  
  
Dylan reached out and dug his nails into Dean’s shoulder, causing Dean to jerk away in pain.  
  
“Christ Almighty,” Dean cried, looking at Dylan, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “That hurt, what’d the hell’d you do that for, Sam?”  
  
“I didn’t do it,” Sam pointed out, “it was Dylan. There is something _wrong_ with him. Do something about it!” He turned and stormed out of the bathroom.  
  
“I have to work!” Dean reminded him, sticking his head out of the bathroom.   
  
“I don’t care!” Sam yelled. “I’m being abused by my son.”  
  
Dean groaned and went back in the bathroom, slamming the door.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam looked down at Dylan in his playpen, who looked back up at him, eyes darker and sunken in, skin washed out. “He looks like hell, Bobby,” Sam said, walking away from the playpen. “I don’t know, but it’s like he’s possessed.”  
  
“How quickly is it coming on?” Bobby asked. “Did he look like this yesterday?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “No. Yesterday he did scratch me though. Since then it’s been kind of snowballing.”  
  
Bobby stayed silent for a moment, only his breathing on his line. “I’m going to assume you’re using the non-sexual definition of that word.”  
  
Sam groaned. “Ugh, Bobby. Gross. And what the hell do you know about snowballing anyway? Wait, don’t answer that, don’t answer that. Just tell me what you want me to do.”  
  
“Try some Latin,” Bobby replied.  
  
Sam sighed and turned back around, watching Dylan. “Do you have any idea what’s wrong with him?”  
  
“Sam, he could be sick,” Bobby pointed out. “Cranky, eyes sunken in, yellow skin. Sounds like a liver disease to me.”  
  
“My son does not have a liver disease!” Sam exclaimed. “Bobby, just tell me what to do, tell me what’s wrong with him.” Sam heard some shuffling around on Bobby’s end and some hmm-ing. “Bobby? Are you still there?”  
  
“Repeat after me, Sam,” Bobby said, clearing his throat.  
  
Sam nodded and turned around, sitting down at the floor to be more at Dylan’s level. “Okay.”  
  
“Questo esorcismo può essere recitato da tutti i cattolici,” Bobby began, pausing to give Sam time to repeat it.  
  
Sam took a deep breath and began. “Questo esorcismo può essere recitato da tutti i cattolici.” He studied Dylan for a reaction, but Dylan didn’t do anything other than just playing with toys.  
  
“Anche laici, per scacciare il demonio ed i suoi seguaci,” Bobby continued on, trying to hear any reaction that Dylan may have had.  
  
“Anche laici, per scacciare il demonio ed i suoi seguaci,” Sam repeated, swallowing hard, expecting Dylan to start crying or his eyes to turn black or something, but he just cooed and picked at his T-Rex.  
  
“E’ tuttavia preferibile che questo rito sia celebrato da una Sacerdote o da chi abbia comunque ricevuto l’Ordine dell’Esorcistato.”  
  
Sam began repeating the sentence, but he cut himself off mid-way, shaking his head. “Bobby, he’s not doing anything. He’s looking at me like I’m an idiot.”  
  
“Idiot,” Dylan said, dropping his toy, crawling to wall of his playpen. “Mama idiot.”  
  
Sam groaned and pushed himself up. “Bobby, he just called me an idiot. Dylan doesn’t have some weird liver disease, there’s something unnatural about him! What am I supposed to do?”  
  
“Dean got Easter weekend off?” Bobby asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “Four days, starting tomorrow.”  
  
“Then I suggest getting your ass here,” Bobby replied. “I’ll be waiting, trying to figure out what the hell’s wrong with your boy.”  
  
“Thank you,” Sam said softly. “We’ll be there sometime.” He turned off his phone and looked back at Dylan, shaking his head. “What’s wrong with you, Dylan?” he asked, walking over to the playpen, looking down at him thoughtfully.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean slammed the car door closed and then opened up the driver’s door, climbing in. “How long does it take to get there anyway?”  
  
“Almost a day of driving,” Sam answered, buckling his seatbelt.   
  
“You good to drive now?” Dean asked, glancing into the backseat before pulling out of the driveways.   
  
Sam nodded. “I think so. I don’t know though, I haven’t driven in more than a year. But I can work my hand pretty okay now.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Okay, so you rest now, and when we hit…” he thought for a moment, “Mesquite we’ll switch off, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “If he’s not possessed, what’s wrong with him?”  
  
Dean shook his head, stopping at a stop sign. “I have no idea. God, I hope Bobby can figure it out.”  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Dean drove and Sam slept for the five hour drive to Mesquite, Arizona; after that they switched for another five hours, Sam driving for the first time in more than a year using his hand. After a mild freak out, Sam picked it up quickly, driving to Salt Lake City. There they stopped for about an hour, grabbing something to eat and change Dylan, and Dean picked up the driving again to Casper. Once more they switched, Sam the one driving when they finally entered South Dakota a little after one am Saturday morning.   
  
“Should we go in?” Sam asked, studying Bobby’s house, the lights off. “We can just get a motel till morning.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “He’s expecting us. Come on, drive up.”  
  
Sam nodded and put the car back in drive, going up Bobby’s driveway. “He got a new dog,” he observed quietly, turning off the ignition.  
  
“Great,” Dean muttered, climbing out of the car. He opened up the backseat and reached in, unbuckling Dylan’s car seat.  
  
Sam stepped out of the car, shaking his head. “There’s snow on the ground. God, I haven’t seen snow in forever.” He reached down and grabbed a handful, packing it into a small ball. “Maybe once Dylan’s better…I wish Bobby could’ve met Dylan under different circumstances.”  
  
Dean snorted and lifted the car seat out of the car, wincing when he saw Dylan for the first time in hours. “He’s getting worse.”  
  
Sam dropped the snowball and finally stood up, looking over at Dean. “How much worse could it get? He already had a clubbed foot in Utah.”  
  
“Yeah well, now he’s got a clubbed hand,” Dean said, closing the door. “What the fuck is going on, Sam?”  
  
Sam shook his head, walking up to the front door, knocking loudly. He squeezed his eyes shut and ducked his head, not wanting to see what his son had become in less than a day.   
  
Bobby opened up the door and eyed the fading circular bruise on Dean’s forehead suspiciously before glancing down at Dylan, who was still asleep. “Definitely not some liver disease,” he remarked, looking up when Sam let out a broken sob, turning away from Bobby.  
  
“Sam, it’s okay,” Dean said softly, rubbing Sam’s shoulders.  
  
“That’s not my baby,” Sam said, shoulders shaking. “What’s wrong with him?”  
  
“Come on in, boys,” Bobby said, stepping out of the way, giving them room to walk in.  
  
Dean looked around, setting Dylan’s carrier down on the floor, cracking his neck. “Come on in, Sam,” he said, glancing back.  
  
Sam nodded and stepped inside, hanging around the doorframe as Bobby closed the door. “Did you find anything out?”  
  
Bobby nodded, reaching up to rub his eyes. “Un-baptized, blonde baby boys. Luckily, I found something that has a fondness for them.”  
  
“Something that’s in my son,” Sam said.  
  
“I don’t get it,” Dean said. “We would’ve noticed, if something came into our house or came near Dylan. We know to pay attention to things like that.”  
  
Bobby walked over to a large pile of books he had and took one off the top, sitting down in his chair. “Looking at a baby with envy -- ‘over looking the baby’ -- was dangerous, as it endangered the baby,” he read aloud, looking over at Dean and Sam, eyebrow raised. “Everybody loves to look at a baby, I’m sure you didn’t even think twice about it.”  
  
Dean and Sam both thought for a minute; Sam pacing around the stacks of books and the mess that was Bobby’s house, Dean reaching down to pick up Dylan, keeping him wrapped up in his blanket. Finally, Dean spoke. “The woman, last week, when we were renting the movie. She said we had a gorgeous baby, asked if he was ours.”  
  
Sam nodded. “You said she had a tail.”  
  
“I knew I wasn’t crazy,” Dean murmured. “So what does that make her? A witch or something?”  
  
“Troll, actually,” Bobby replied.   
  
“A troll did something to my baby?” Sam asked in horror.  
  
“Did something to _you_ ,” Dean corrected.   
  
“What?” Bobby asked, straightening up in his seat.  
  
“Sam got sick that same night, right after we put Dylan to bed,” Dean began. “Stumbling, like he was drunk, said he felt nauseous. Pretty much passed out the second I got him to bed. I couldn’t wake him up, to go…” Dean trailed off as his eyes filled with realization. “I woke up to Dylan screaming over the baby monitor. I tried to get Sam to wake up, but it was like he was dead. Somewhere between me slapping Sam and him waking up, Dylan stopped. I completely forgot about Dylan.”  
  
“And I couldn’t remember going to bed,” Sam finished. “I couldn’t remember getting sick or anything, and I felt fine. That woman put like, a spell on me?”  
  
Bobby stood up, finally paying attention to the fact that Dean was holding Dylan. “Dean, son, put him down.”  
  
Dean frowned and looked down at Dylan, still sleeping. “Why?”  
  
“Because he’s not yours,” Bobby replied. “He’s a troll.”  
  
Dean jerked and let go of Dylan, dropping him down to the floor.  
  
“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, dropping to the floor to pick Dylan back up. “You dropped our son.”  
  
“Sam, he’s a _troll_ ,” Dean reminded him. “What are you talking about Bobby?”  
  
“They’re called Changelings,” Bobby answered, walking over to them. “A child of a fairy or elf or, in your case, a troll, secretly left in the place of a human baby. They’re drawn to the beauty of a child, particularly blonde ones. Boys are more likely to be taken.”  
  
“Why do they do it?” Sam asked, laying the baby back down on the floor, stepping away from it. “Why would a troll steal my baby?”  
  
Bobby shrugged. “Lotta theories, of course I don’t think anyone’s ever sat down with a troll and asked them. They want a human servant, they want the love of a human, they need a replacement for their own child on the ride to Hell. Sometimes it’s to hurt or torture the human.”  
  
Sam and Dean glanced at each other, and Dean swallowed hard. “You’re saying my son is either being beaten by a troll or he’s already in Hell.”  
  
“It’s only been what, a week?” Bobby asked. “They have to give you a chance to figure it out and claim your real son. It’s the rules.”  
  
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. “So what do I gotta do? Go kick some Fair Folk ass or something?”  
  
Bobby shook his head and looked down at the sleeping baby on the floor. “Wake him up.”  
  
Sam crouched down and picked the baby up, rocking him gently, stroking his sunken cheek. “Wake up, baby, you gotta wake up.”  
  
“Sam, stop being so goddamn nice,” Dean snapped. “That’s not Dylan.”  
  
Sam smiled sadly as the baby’s eyes fluttered open. “But he’s somebody’s baby.”  
  
“Yeah, and they traded him in for a better model!” Dean pointed out. “What do you think that says about his parents?”  
  
Sam stood up, cradling the baby towards him. “So what do we do?”  
  
Bobby grabbed the book again, double-checking what it said. “We’ve gotta get him to admit what he is, he’ll trade himself back. Says something about cooking a meal in an eggshell.”  
  
Dean snorted again. “Sammy can’t cook a friggin’ meal on a stove,” he muttered.  
  
“What the hell is that supposed to do?” Sam asked.  
  
“It says the baby will say, ‘Acorn before oak I knew, an egg before a hen, but I never heard of an eggshell brew a dinner for harvest men’, then he’ll disappear, leaving the real baby in its place.”  
  
“Screw that,” Dean muttered.  
  
“Brew beer in an acorn,” Bobby continued. “Then he’ll say, ‘Now I am as old as an oak in the woods but I have never seen beer being brewed in an acorn’.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “God, I hate European folklore. You know what, I have a better idea.” He looked around Bobby’s living room and grabbed a gun off the mantle. He cocked it and aimed it at the baby in Sam’s arms.  
  
“Dean, you can’t shoot him,” Sam said, turning away slightly, shielding the baby with his body.  
  
“Sam, that is a goddamn troll,” Dean gritted, “that is not our son anymore. Get out of the way.”  
  
Sam shook his head furiously. “What if Bobby’s wrong? What if it’s something else? What if this is still Dylan?”  
  
“It _isn’t_ ,” Dean insisted. “Somebody else has Dylan, this is the only way to get him back.”  
  
Sam shook his head again. “I can’t risk it. I’m not going to let you shoot this baby. He-- he might still be Dylan,” he said hopefully, glancing over at Bobby.  
  
“Sam, drop the kid,” Bobby said. “That’s not Dylan.”  
  
Sam swallowed hard and turned slowly, laying the baby down on the couch. Before he moved out of the way, he crouched down, brushing the baby’s hair off his forehead. “Dylan? Dylan, if that’s you, you have to let us know. Please, Dylan.”   
  
The baby smirked before slapping Sam across the face with his normal hand, his clubbed hand dead weight on his lap. He cackled, sticking his tongue out.  
  
Sam clutched at his cheek and stood up quickly, glancing back and forth between Dean and Bobby. “Do it,” Sam said sadly, “but I’m not going to watch. I can’t watch a baby that looks like Dylan die.” He walked away from the couch, going up the stairs, two at a time before he hit the top, sitting down on the landing.  
  
Dean’s eyes followed Sam sadly, before he glanced over at Bobby, who was nodding. Dean walked over to the couch, pressing the nuzzle of the gun against the baby’s forehead, who just looked up at him, eyes almost black they were so dark. “Got any last words?” he asked quietly, voice rough.  
  
“Bye-bye Daddy,” the troll croaked.  
  
Dean squeezed his eyes shut before he squeezed the trigger.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
“Brr, it’s cold, Dylan,” Sam said, shifting in the snow. “Brr.”   
  
Dylan squealed and clapped his hands, bouncing up and down on Sam’s lap. He put his lips together and blew, trying to copy the sound Sam had made.   
  
Sam grinned and clapped, fixing Dylan’s hat, which was actually just an old trucker hat that belonged to Bobby. “Brr,” he said again. “Do you like the snow, Dylan? Mommy and Daddy used to love playing in the snow. Maybe next year when you’re older, Uncle Bobby will let us come back and we can play for real.” He smiled down at Dylan, whose green eyes were shining from the sun reflecting off the snow. Sam opened his mouth wide and grabbed a handful of snow, holding it out for Dylan to look at. “I just remembered Dylan, it’s Easter! Do you know what Easter is?”  
  
Dylan reached out and stuck his fingers in the snow, looking up at Sam.  
  
“No no, Dylan,” Sam said, wiping the snow off Dylan’s fingers. “Too cold, hurt your fingers.” He held Dylan’s fingers in his hand, trying to warm them back up.  
  
Bobby took a drink of his beer, watching Sam and Dylan from the living room. “So that’s what he really looks like, huh?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yup. Normal hands, normal feet, green eyes. That’s my boy.”  
  
Bobby watched Dylan and Sam for a moment longer before turning back around. “He’s not yours, is he?”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Nope,” he replied sadly, pressing his forehead to the glass before stepping away. “He’s Rosier’s boy, not mine.”  
  
“Who told you?” Bobby asked, stepping over to Dean.   
  
“Shax,” Dean replied. “He was in Virginia; Dad needed our help.”  
  
“When we get back, we’ll see if the Easter Bunny found us,” Sam said, letting Dylan grab onto his shoulder, pulling himself up. “You know, for such little feet, they kind of hurt when they dig into Mommy’s leg.”  
  
Dylan tried his best to wrap an arm around Sam’s neck, shifting on his feet. “Mama,” he said, the hat falling in his eyes again.   
  
“Does Sam know?” Bobby asked, taking a seat on the couch.  
  
Dean shook his head again. “I can’t tell him. It’d break his heart.”  
  
“What about _your_ heart?” Bobby asked.  
  
Dean reached up to scratch at his cheek, before covering his mouth for a moment. “How long have you known?”  
  
Bobby shrugged. “Not for sure until now. But truth be told, the whole you getting him pregnant thing never really flew with me.”  
  
“Wish someone told me,” Dean muttered, looking back out the window.  
  
Bobby frowned. “Why? So you could’ve stopped loving him?”  
  
“No!” Dean exclaimed, turning around.  
  
“Then why?” Bobby asked.  
  
Dean sat down in the chair, reaching out for his own beer. “So-- I don’t know. I don’t know, I mean, I love him. He’s my son, doesn’t matter who his father is. I’m not going to stop loving him for it.”  
  
Bobby nodded. “Glad to hear it.”  
  
Dean nodded. “It just sucks, you know? I mean, for nine months, I held him, changed him, dressed him, thought he looked like me. Then I found out,” Dean shook his head, “he’s Sam’s, not mine, and any family resemblance is just because I’m his uncle.”  
  
Bobby nodded and took another drink, reaching over to pat Dean on the knee.  
  
“Brr,” Sam said, opening up the door, stepping inside. “Cold out.”  
  
Bobby pulled his hand back quickly, smiling. “Does he seem okay?”  
  
“Oh definitely,” Sam nodded, nuzzling his nose against Dylan’s, before kissing him. “He’s perfect, completely back to normal.”  
  
Dean grinned. “That’s my boy,” he said again, looking at Bobby out of the corner of his eye.  
  
Sam grinned back. “Of course. Come on, Dylan, wanna go to Daddy? Daddy looks pretty lonely over there.” He laid Dylan down on the floor, making sure there was nothing around there to hurt him.   
  
Dylan began crawling over to Dean, the bill of the hat almost completely covering his face. He grabbed onto Dean’s jeans and began pulling, trying to pull himself up. “Dada,” he whined, grabbing onto Dean’s knee, legs shaking as he pulled himself up, a death grip on Dean’s leg.  
  
Dean grinned and leaned down, picking Dylan up, holding him up to his chest. “Where’s Dylan? Where’s Dylan?” He lifted the hat off Dylan’s face. “There’s Dylan! There’s my little boy!” He put the hat back down again.   
  
Dylan flipped his arm and hit the hat off his head, whimpering. “Dada,” he cried, burying his face in Dean’s neck.  
  
“Is that actually you this time?” Dean asked. “‘Cause the last person who called me Dada was a troll.”  
  
Sam swallowed and glanced over at Bobby. “That’s not a troll, right?”  
  
Bobby nodded. “I think that’s your boy. Of course, you’re his parents. You should know.”  
  
“This one is _definitely_ mine,” Dean said, nodding, rubbing Dylan’s back comfortingly.  
  
Sam beamed and Bobby gave Dean a knowing glance. “Now come on, Dean,” Sam said, “give Uncle Bobby a chance to hold Dylan.”  
  
Bobby rolled his eyes. “I don’t know where you kids got this Uncle Bobby crap, but--” he stopped talking when Dean handed Dylan off to him, Dylan’s eyes wide as he studied Bobby.  
  
Sam and Dean both watched Bobby expectantly, unsure of what Bobby would do.  
  
Dylan reached up and dragged his fingers through Bobby’s beard, glancing over at Dean, who just nodded. “Glooba,” Dylan babbled, trying to reach up and grab Bobby’s hat.  
  
Bobby stared down at Dylan, before he finally grinned, holding Dylan up so he could grab his hat. “Actually, DJ, you can just call me Uncle Bobby.”  
  
 

 


	31. Chapter 31

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done - Volume 2 - Chapter 31  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter  
**Summary:** It's Dylan's first birthday  
**Author's Note:** That was volume one. This is volume two.

 

**one year old**  
  
“Are you coming?” Sam asked, running down the hallway to Dylan’s nursery. “Dad, are you coming? You have to come. It’s his--”  
  
“Sam, you have to give me a chance to answer,” John interrupted, laughing softly. “What are you guys doing for it anyway?”  
  
Sam smiled down at Dylan, waving at him. “Morning Dylan, hi. What do you want for breakfast, baby? Oatmeal?” He put his shoulder up by his ear, holding the phone up as he reached down to pick Dylan up, sitting him on his hip. “Happy Birthday, Dylan! Mommy’s little boy is a year old!”  
  
Dylan reached out for Sam’s cell phone, trying to grab it away from him, but Sam just shook his head. “Mama,” Dylan whined, trying to grab at the phone again.  
  
“He only knows two words, but he’s already driving me insane,” Sam said, finally talking to his father again.   
  
John laughed. “You’re the kind of guy who’s already got the balloons and the cake and everything, right?”  
  
“What do you mean, ‘kind of guy’?” Sam asked. “You raised me, it’s your fault if I’m _any_ kind of guy.”  
  
“I blame Dean,” John replied. “So what are you guys doing for him?”  
  
“Presents,” Sam replied, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes at Dylan, nuzzling his nose. “Lots and lots of presents. Dylan loves presents, don’t ya Dylan, don’t ya?” He gave Dylan a kiss. “Yes, you do. So what’d you get him, Dad?”  
  
“Why do you assume I got him something?” John teased.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Because you’re his grandfather. You delivered him Dad, you better have damn well gotten him something.”  
  
“Where’s Dean?” John asked.  
  
“I’m staring at him right now,” Sam said, standing in front of the television. “Dean, our father is on the phone.”  
  
“Yep,” Dean said, trying to see around Sam. “You gonna move?”  
  
“Dean,” Sam said sternly, “talk to our father.”  
  
Dean sighed and reached out for the phone.  
  
Sam walked over to Dean and handed him the phone, leaning down for Dylan to give Dean a kiss.  
  
Dean set the phone on his lap and reached out to take Dylan, giving him another kiss, letting him stand up on his lap as he picked up the phone. “What’s going on, Dad?”  
  
Sam walked into the kitchen, going to the kitchen to try and find something for Dylan to eat.  
  
“So where are you?” Dean asked, fixing Dylan’s t-shirt where it had ridden up on his stomach.  
  
“Pahrump,” John replied.  
  
“What the hell is a Pahrump?” Dean asked. “How far away is it?”  
  
“About four hours,” John answered. “It’s in Nevada. I told you two I was coming and I’m coming. Just make sure there’s some cake for me.”  
  
Dean moved his hand up to grab onto Dylan when he wavered a bit on his lap. “Be careful, Dylan, be careful, don’t want you to fall. Hold onto Daddy, ‘kay?”  
  
“Daddy,” Dylan said, grabbing onto Dean’s shirt as he wavered again.  
  
Dean kissed Dylan’s forehead before he glanced down at his watch. “So around two-thirty, three or something?”  
  
“Should be,” John agreed. “So are you guys having anybody over or anything?”  
  
“Paula and Michael,” Dean replied, “uh…the neighbour has a toddler, so they’re coming over, and Sammy’s thirteen-year-old girlfriend is coming.”  
  
John laughed. “Sammy’s got a girlfriend, huh? Who is she?”  
  
“We used to live near her, her name’s Allison,” Dean answered. “Hung out with Sam whenever he went to the park. It’s quite the sad group of partiers, I must admit.”  
  
“Just wait until I get there,” John joked. “So I better be going, before I crash this truck and ruin Dylan’s present.”  
  
“Or die,” Dean pointed out. “Okay Dad, you know how to get to the new place, right?”  
  
John snorted. “Yeah, Sammy got me to Google Maps it.”  
  
“What a nerd,” Dean muttered. “I’ll talk to ya later.”   
  
“Bye,” John said, before he shut off his phone.  
  
Dean set Sam’s cell phone down on the couch and got a grip on Dylan before standing up, walking into the kitchen. “What you making for breakfast, Sammy?”  
  
“Eggs,” Sam said, looking around the kitchen for a whisk. “Omelettes for us, egg yolks for him.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Anything I can do to help?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Nope. Just keep him away from the egg whites. We have strawberries, give him one of those to hold him over till it’s ready.”  
  
Dean nodded again and sat Dylan down on the kitchen table, hoping to hell he didn’t fall off. He went to the refrigerator and quickly grabbed a handful of strawberries, bumping the door closed before scooping Dylan back up off the table. “Okay Dyl, let’s go, Mommy’s making breakfast.” Dean shifted Dylan in his arms and managed to rip the leave off one of the strawberries before the position Dylan was in got too awkward and he held him normally again. “Okay Dyl, open up,” Dean said, offering the strawberry to him.  
  
Dylan grabbed the strawberry and squeezed it in his fist, causing strawberry juice to drip onto the floor and all over his hand. He brought his hand up and ate one of the clumps of strawberry, giggling.   
  
“Can Daddy have some?” Dean asked, opening his mouth.  
  
Dylan put his hand up to Dean’s mouth, letting Dean get a clump off fruit in his mouth before Dylan smeared his hand over Dean’s cheek, giggling again.  
  
Dean laughed and flopped down on the couch, letting Dylan crawl all over him as he picked the leaves off another strawberry. “Want another one, Dylan?”  
  
Dylan looked up at the sound of his name, lips stained red from the fruit.  
  
Dean offered Dylan the strawberry. “Want it?”  
  
Dylan grabbed the strawberry and squeezed that one too, before eating it out of his hand, staining his mouth even more.  
  
“Dylan, you’re all stained,” Dean said, grasping onto Dylan’s hand. “Look at your hand! What are you gonna do about that?” He opened his eyes wide, looking at Dylan in fake shock and wonder.  
  
Dylan looked down at his hand, seemingly mesmerized by the different color skin before he simply wiped it on his shirt, leaving a red smudge on his t-shirt. He giggled and clapped his hands, trying to crawl up Dean’s chest.  
  
Dean smiled at Dylan, giving him a kiss. “Dylan, I love you, do you know that?”  
  
Dylan sighed and reached up to scratch the back of his neck, studying his red hand.   
  
“Happy Birthday, Dylan,” Dean said softly, ruffling Dylan’s hair.   
  
Dylan looked up at Dean, trying to wrap his arm around Dean’s neck. “Bubda?”  
  
Dean shook his head, rubbing Dylan’s back. “Birthday. Birthday. Can you say that?”  
  
“Bubda,” Dylan said again, before squirming on Dean’s lap.  
  
Dean grinned and wrapped an arm around Dylan’s waist, standing up. He held onto Dylan’s hand and began swaying back and forth, humming. “Daddy’s little boy is a year old. A whole _year_ , Dylan!”  
  
Dylan nodded, not really understanding what Dean had said, his toes wiggling in his socks.  
  
“It’s been one year since Mommy and Daddy held you for the first time,” Dean continued on, trying to fight the tears that were currently welling up. “A whole year,” he said quietly, sniffling. He looked up when he heard a creak on the floorboards to see Sam leaning against the wall, smiling. “Hey, Sammy.”  
  
Sam pushed himself off the wall and walked over to Dean, pulling him in for a kiss, careful not to squish Dylan between them. “You okay?” he asked, rubbing Dean’s neck his with his thumb.  
  
Dean nodded eagerly, leaning up to give Sam another kiss. “I just can’t believe it’s been a year.” He groaned and reached up and rubbed his eyes. “A year ago yesterday to a year ago today…it all changed so much, Sammy.”  
  
Sam nodded and pulled Dean in again. “We did pretty good, huh?”  
  
Dean laughed softly, nodding. “Yeah, we did okay. Didn’t get anybody killed, so that’s a win in my book.” He sighed and shifted Dylan in his arms, nudging him. “Dylan, show Mommy what you did to your shirt. Show Mommy.”  
  
“Let Mommy see ya, Dylan,” Sam said, lifting Dylan out of Dean’s arms and into his own. “You got that strawberry all over your shirt, Dylan! Look at that! Just making more laundry for me and Daddy, huh?” He kissed Dylan’s head, looking around for the other strawberries. “Dean, give me one of those, will you?”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes playfully before laughing, reaching over to grab a strawberry off the couch. He ripped the leaves off and held it up to Sam, smiling when Sam opened his mouth. “So tell me again why he can’t eat egg whites?”  
  
Sam swallowed the strawberry and shook his head. “It’s not just good for someone his age. It’s like, automatic allergy.”  
  
“What about strawberries?” Dean asked. “Aren’t a lot of kids allergic to strawberries?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, you’re not allergic to them, I’m not allergic to them. And he’s eaten them before without getting sick.” He swallowed the rest of the strawberry down and studied Dylan carefully. “Does he look sick to you?” he asked, glancing at Dean.  
  
Dean frowned. “I…don’t think so. Does he look sick to you?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Sam said quietly. “Let’s-- let’s just keep an eye on him for the next little bit.”  
  
“Breakfast ready yet?” Dean asked.  
  
“His is,” Sam replied, turning around, leading Dean into the kitchen. “Dylan, time for breakfast.” He grabbed the plate with Dylan’s hardboiled egg yolk and sat down, Dylan on his lap. “Fill up on strawberries or are ya still hungry?”  
  
Dylan reached out to grab at the egg but Sam just shook his head, drumming his fingers on Dylan’s stomach to get his attention back on him. He looked up at Sam, questioning.  
  
“Mommy’s gonna feed you today,” Sam said, picking up the spoon. “Dean, that’s almost done if you want to finish it.”  
  
Dean nodded and went over to the stove, studying the omelette. “Just like, fold it, huh?”  
  
Sam nodded, feeding Dylan some of the eggs, mashing it up. “You used to make them for me all the time, when we were kids.”  
  
Dean made a small face and poked at the omelette with the spatula. “I don’t remember ever making you one of these.” He folded the omelette before lifting up the pan, sliding the omelette onto the plate. “Is this yours or mine?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Whose ever. You eat it, I’ll make mine when I’m finished with Dylan.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean said, grabbing a glass of juice that Sam had already poured and sat down at the table beside him, smiling down at Dylan. “Yummy eggs, Dylan?” He cut off a piece of his omelette, eating it. “Mine’s pretty good, what about yours?”  
  
Dylan tried to turn on Sam’s lap, but Sam’s hand kept him in place. He pouted and hit his hand against Sam’s leg, shaking his head when Sam tried to get him to eat more.  
  
“You okay, Dylan?” Sam asked, leaning down to get his face by Dylan’s. “What’s wrong?”  
  
Dylan began to whimper and held out his hand to Sam, still squirming.  
  
“Alright, let’s see,” Sam said, setting down the fork. He grasped onto Dylan’s strawberry stained hand, studying it.   
  
“What’s going on?” Dean asked, taking a drink of juice.   
  
“What does this look like to you?” Sam asked, shifting to get closer to Dean.  
  
“Let’s see,” Dean murmured, looking at Dylan’s hand. “It looks like…I don’t know, what does it look like?”  
  
“Hives,” Sam said, standing up quickly, taking Dylan over to the sink. “He has hives, Dean.” He held Dylan up on his hip and turned on the tap, waiting for the water to warm up. “He’s allergic.”  
  
Dean snorted. “Pfft, no way. He’s not allergic. He’s eaten them before.”  
  
Sam stuck Dylan’s hand under the tap, trying to wash the strawberry off. “Is he breathing differently?” he asked, getting the soap.   
  
Dean leaned down and put his head against Dylan’s chest. “No, but I think you are. Are you having a panic attack?”  
  
“No!” Sam snapped, rubbing Dylan’s hand even harder. “No, I’m not.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and bumped Sam out of the way, taking Dylan’s hand in his. “Sam, he’s breathing fine. He’s just got hives, I used to get them when I was a kid.”  
  
“From what?” Sam asked, leaning against the counter, trying to calm down.  
  
“The cold,” Dean said, grabbing the hand towel, drying Dylan’s hand off. He studied the palm of Dylan’s hand, biting on his lip. “Okay, we need some of those pills or something. Histamine.”  
  
“ _Anti_ histamine,” Sam corrected. “I don’t think we have any. What do we do?”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Uh, we go to the drugstore and pick some up. Duh. Go get some pants on and get in the car.”  
  
“Dean, we have people coming over,” Sam reminded him. “And I’ll just stay in the car, thank you.”  
  
Dean sighed and shook his head. “Sam, we won’t be gone that long, okay? Stick a note to the door or something. But hives really aren’t that fun, so if we could hurry this up, it’d be great.”  
  
Sam groaned and slipped his feet into his sneakers, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen. He quickly wrote _Be right back!_ and looked around for something to stick it to the door with. He stuck his tongue out and licked the edge of the page a couple times, before sticking it to the door.   
  
“Ugh, gross,” Dean muttered, shaking his head.  
  
“Happy?” Sam asked, brushing past Dean and Dylan.  
  
“Peachy keen,” Dean muttered, closing the door behind him. He took the couple steps and walked over to the car, opening up the backseat. “Okay, just a couple minutes in the back, Dyl,” he said softly, buckling Dylan into his car seat. “You ready, Sam?” he asked, climbing into the front seat.  
  
Sam nodded as he began to regret not taking Dean’s advice about putting on pants, the air still cool as he realized his boxers were pretty thin. “God, I need new underwear,” he muttered.  
  
Dean began to laugh as he pulled out of the driveway, shaking his head. “I’ll put it on the list of things to get you for your birthday.”  
  
“Do you-- do think Dad’ll stay for my birthday, once he gets here?” Sam asked. “I mean, it’s less than a month. Maybe?”  
  
Dean shrugged, bobbing his head to the music in his head only he could hear. “Maybe. You can ask. Sure, why not?”  
  
“Because Dad hates staying in one place for more than a week,” Sam muttered, reaching over to turn on the radio.   
  
 

*** * * ***

  
Sam scratched his head and looked up when he saw Dean out of the corner of his eye, Dylan on his hip, bag in his hand, smiling.  
  
Dean opened up his door first and tossed the drugstore bag over to Sam before opening the backseat, buckling Dylan back into his car seat. “Just hives, Sammy, no breathing problems.”  
  
“I figured,” Sam murmured, taking out the box of pills, reading over the instructions and warnings.   
  
“Pfft, what do ya mean you figured? You were worried he was going into shock or something,” Dean reminded him, climbing into the car. “They said we might wanna get around to taking him to the doctor or something sometime, just to make sure.”  
  
“Okay, so he’s got an allergy,” Sam said, nodding. “That’s not a big deal. Just no more strawberries.”  
  
“Actually, they said something that he might still be able to eat them, he just can’t _touch_ them,” Dean explained. “Which is like, completely retarded, but whatever. Oh, and he might still be able to eat _white_ strawberries. I’ll call the doctor when we get home. ” He pulled out of the parking lot and glanced in the backseat, smiling at Dylan. “Just hives, right buddy? Get him home, give him one of those and he’ll be good to go.”  
  
“We managed to make it a year,” Sam said softly.  
  
“A year of what?” Dean asked, drumming his fingers on the wheel.  
  
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. A year of him not having an allergy, I guess.”  
  
Dean smiled. “Sam, it’s not that big of a deal. So he doesn’t eat anymore strawberries. So what? They were the gayest of the berries anyway.”  
  
“Dean, it _is_ a big deal,” Sam said. “Okay? I know it sounds stupid and yeah, sure, he’s not dying or anything but it’s an allergy.”  
  
“An allergy that gives him hives!” Dean exclaimed. “I mean sure, if his throat was going to swell up and he was going to die, I could see this being more of a problem. It’s hives!”  
  
“Whatever,” Sam muttered, trying to pull his hoodie down to cover more of his legs. “We have different opinions on this, fine.”  
  
“Sammy, what’s going on?” Dean asked, glancing over at Sam.  
  
“Nothing,” Sam answered.  
  
“Sam,” Dean said warningly. “Come on, spill.”  
  
Sam huffed and curled up against the door, trying not to look Dean in the eyes; he didn’t want to see him look at him like he was an idiot. “It’s just, with everything that we’re going to have to worry about with him; I know we haven’t talked about it but I know that there’s-- that he’s going to be like me.”  
  
Dean swallowed hard and dropped his eyes for just a second, tightening his grip on the wheel.  
  
“And with the demon and people wondering where we got him and him asking us about his birth and everything, I just-- it’s like the straw that broke the camel’s back,” Sam explained. “Everything else we have to worry about, I was just kind of hoping we wouldn’t have to worry about something like this.” He sighed and shook his head. “It’s stupid, I know, but--”  
  
“It’s not,” Dean interrupted. “Stupid, I mean. It’s not. It’s understandable.” He reached over and rubbed Sam’s leg comfortingly. “I get it.”  
  
Sam smiled in relief.  
  
 

*** * * ***

  
“What’s this, Dylan?” Sam asked, watching Dylan grab at the wrapping paper. “What is it?” He opened his mouth wide and clapped his hands when Dylan finally ripped the paper. “Sesame Street, Dylan! Wow.”  
  
Dylan looked at the box, hitting it with his hand. “Wa,” he said, trying to push himself off Dean’s lap to get at the box, but Dean kept his hand on Dylan’s stomach.  
  
“Right, wow,” Sam said, nodding seriously. “What is it, Dylan?”  
  
Dean reached over and picked the box up, reading the label. “Sesame Street Bath Puzzle,” he answered. “Damn right. Thanks Mikey,” he grinned, looking over at Michael.   
  
Michael grinned back. “Technically, Paula picked it out.”  
  
Paula snorted and rolled her eyes, rubbing her stomach. “Technically? Michael, you were in the car.”  
  
Dean laughed. “Okay, what else we got, Dylan?”  
  
“Dada,” Dylan said, looking up at him, trying to kiss Dean’s chin.  
  
Dean leaned down and gave Dylan a kiss, ruffling his hair as Dylan giggled. “Alright, what’s this one Dylan?”  
  
“That’s from us,” Sam and Dean’s neighbour Todd answered.   
  
Dean studied the present. “It says it’s from Danny,” Dean said suspiciously, eyeing Todd jokingly.  
  
Todd smiled. “What can I say? He wanted to put his name on it.”  
  
Danny pushed himself off Todd’s lap and dropped to the floor, walking slowly over to Dean and Sam, sitting down in front of Dean, smiling at Dylan.  
  
Dean and Sam glanced at each other, smiling. “Did you get this for Dylan, Danny?” Sam asked softly.  
  
Danny nodded, curls bouncing into his eyes. “Yep.”  
  
“Is Dylan going to like it?” Sam asked.  
  
Danny nodded again. “Yep.”  
  
Dean and Sam smiled. “You wanna help Dylan open it?” Dean asked.  
  
“Yep,” Danny said, pushing himself up to scoot closer to Dylan, grinning at him.  
  
Dylan watched Danny in wonder, green eyes wide as Danny ripped a piece of paper off the box.   
  
“Turn,” Danny said, pushing the box closer to Dean and Dylan.  
  
“Go ahead, Dill Pickle,” Dean said quietly, grasping onto one of Dylan’s hand, leading it to the box.  
  
Dylan’s fingers curled into the paper and he pulled, ripping a small amount of paper off. “Wa.”  
  
“Your turn, Danny,” Dean said.  
  
Danny ripped another piece of paper off, before glancing back towards his father. “Daddy?”  
  
“Yeah?” Todd asked, ready to push himself up off the couch. “You okay, Danny?”  
  
Danny nodded. “I like Dylan.”  
  
Sam grinned and looked over at Dean, who was smiling down at Danny.  
  
Todd nodded. “Well, good Danny. Finish helping him with his present.”  
  
“Kay,” Danny said, watching Dylan rip another tiny piece off. “Dylan, like this.” He moved closer to Dylan and ripped a piece off, making sure Dylan was watching. “Like that.”  
  
Sam tried to not grin any bigger, biting the inside of his lip. “Dylan, can you open it? Like Danny. Can you do that?”  
  
Dylan yawned, settling against Dean’s chest.  
  
“I think he’s tired, Sammy,” Dean said softly. “The hives and the pill and everything’s probably taking a lot out of him.”  
  
Sam looked around at everyone before standing up, lifting Dylan off of Dean’s lap. “I think we gotta put you down, Dylan. Come on, say bye-bye to everybody.”  
  
“His present!” Danny protested, looking up at Sam.  
  
“We’ll save it for later, Danny,” Sam assured him. “You can come over tomorrow and you can finish helping him open it, okay?”  
  
“Kay,” Danny nodded, pushing himself up. “Can I go with him?”  
  
Sam and Dean both glanced at each other before looking over at Todd.   
  
“Um…” Todd looked up at Sam and Dean, shrugging. “I don’t know. If there’s room.”  
  
“It’s a pretty big crib,” Sam nodded, reaching down to link fingers with Danny. “You gotta be careful though, don’t smoosh him.”  
  
“Won’t,” Danny said, letting Sam lead him down the hallway to Dylan’s nursery.  
  
“I guess this party’s dead,” Dean said, reaching his arms above his head to pop his shoulders. “Allison, you want me to drive you home?”  
  
“We can take her,” Paula said. “You live in Anaheim, right?”  
  
Allison nodded. “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out.”  
  
Michael snorted. “We’ll, that’s where we’re going, so may as well take you too.”  
  
“Thanks,” Allison smiled, standing up. “Thanks for having me, Dean.”  
  
Dean nodded. “No problem. Dylan thanks you for the blocks.”  
  
Allison grinned. “My sister has the same kind, I figured he’d like them too.”  
  
“Ready to go?” Paula asked, after finally managing to push herself off the couch, belly in the way. “Alright Dean, tell your father we said hi, when he shows up. Come on Michael, put the blocks down.”  
  
Michael smiled apologetically and nodded at Dean, following Paula and Allison out of the living room, waving back and Dean and Todd before disappearing out the door.  
  
“So Todd,” Dean began slowly, nodding his head, “how old’s Danny again?”  
  
“Three years old in July,” Todd replied, looking up as Sam made his way back into the living room.   
  
“Everybody’s gone,” Sam said quietly, sitting back down on the floor.   
  
“Well, when the birthday boy goes to bed, people don’t usually stick around Sammy,” Dean pointed out. “They fit in there alright?”  
  
Sam nodded, yawning. “Fine. Danny seemed pretty excited about helping Dylan open his present later.”  
  
Todd nodded. “Yeah, he’s really-- he gets excited about things pretty easily. Kids, huh?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Dylan barely talks, so I’m not really sure when he’s excited.”  
  
Sam and Dean both looked up when they heard an vehicle turn into their driveway then the engine shutting off. “Dad!” Dean exclaimed, pushing himself up clumsily.   
  
“I guess I should go get Danny back up and go,” Todd said, ready to push himself up.  
  
Dean shook his head and waved his hand. “No, leave Danny, just wait.” He followed Sam out into the kitchen, grinning when John walked in the door. He pulled John into a hug, patting his back. “Neighbour’s here, Sam’s not yours,” he whispered, knowing John would understand.  
  
John swallowed and nodded, patting Dean’s shoulder as he pulled back. “Hey, Sammy,” he said, pulling Sam in for a hug. “How’s it going?”  
  
“Great,” Sam nodded, taking a deep breath. “Great.”  
  
“So what’s going on?” John asked, looking around. “Where are all the partiers?”  
  
“Michael and Paula and Allison left,” Dean replied, “Dylan got a little tired. We put him down, along with Danny.”  
  
“Danny?” John asked.  
  
“He’d be my son,” Todd explained, giving a small wave, leaning against the wall. “Todd Ford, sir,” he said, walking over to John, hand extended. “The neighbour.”  
  
“John Winchester,” John replied, shaking Todd’s hand, “Dean’s father. So are they asleep? How long ago were they put down?”  
  
“Not long,” Sam answered, leading John away from the door. “Couple minutes. Come on, Dylan will be so happy to see you.”  
  
Todd shifted and swallowed hard, following behind Sam, John and Dean, just ready to take Danny.  
  
Sam pushed open the door to the nursery, smiling down at Dylan and Danny.  
  
“Going on?” Danny asked, pushing himself up.  
  
“Dylan’s grampie is here,” Sam explained. “You want back out too?” he asked, leaning in to pick Dylan up, rubbing his back, shushing him when Dylan looked like he was about to cry.  
  
“Yeah,” Danny said, reaching his arms out to Todd.  
  
“Let’s get you out of there, buddy,” Todd said quietly, lifting Danny out, sitting him on his hip. “This is John, Danny, say hi.”  
  
“Hi,” Danny said softly, before burying his face in Todd’s neck.  
  
John smiled and nodded at Danny before looking to Sam. “Is he awake?” he asked quietly, taking Dylan from Sam. “Are you awake, Dylan?”   
  
Dylan stuck his bottom lip out and it still looked like he was about to cry, but he opened his eyes and looked up at John, looking miserable.  
  
“There’s Grampie’s little boy,” John grinned, giving Dylan a kiss. “Remember me, Dylan? Remember me?” He began walking back out of the nursery, bouncing Dylan up on his hip. “I’m your Grampie.”  
  
“Pee,” Dylan said, reaching up to grab onto John’s beard, watching him with eyes wide. He glanced back at Sam and Dean, reaching out to them. “Mama,” he whined.  
  
“It’s okay, Dylan,” Sam assured him, reaching out to get Dylan grab onto his hand. “It’s okay, okay?”  
  
Dylan turned back to John, curling up against his chest.   
  
“Open his present now?” Danny asked, looking up at Todd.  
  
“Maybe later Danny, Dylan’s with his grandfather now,” Todd explained.   
  
“Danny, do you wanna play with Dylan’s new blocks?” Dean asked, turning around.  
  
Danny grinned and nodded. “Kay.”  
  
“Kay,” Todd said, leaning down to set Danny down, who took off running towards the blocks. “Okay Danny, let’s go build something.” He followed behind him, sitting down on the floor a couple feet away from him, just watching him.  
  
John sat down on the couch and smiled down at Dylan, watching him closely. “Looks like Mary,” he said quietly, looking over at Dean and Sam.  
  
Sam smiled before Dean leaned down to John, whispering in his ear, “He’s adopted, remember?”  
  
John nodded understandingly. “But god, doesn’t he?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed. He glanced over at Todd, who was seemingly not paying any attention to them, only to Danny. “Personally, I think he kinda looks like Sam.”  
  
Sam grinned. “I always thought he looked like you.”  
  
Dean cleared his throat and looked down at John, whose own smile had disappeared.  
  
Before Sam could say anything, Danny had yelled for him. “What’s going on, Danny?” he asked, walking over to him.  
  
“This,” Danny said, clapping his hands at his own tower.  
  
“Wow, very nice,” Sam said sincerely, nodding. “Very nice.”  
  
“You didn’t tell him?” John asked, looking over at Sam from the corner of his eye.  
  
“No!” Dean whispered harshly. “I can’t.”  
  
“Can’t what?” Sam asked, walking back over.   
  
Dean smiled and looked up. “Can’t make Dylan talk for Dad if he doesn’t want to.”  
  
“Well, he only says two words,” Sam said, sitting down on the couch beside John, “and you already heard one. Dylan, said ‘dada’. Can you say ‘dada’?”  
  
Dylan looked up at Dean, mouth open. “Dada.”  
  
“Wow, Dylan,” John smiled, “wow. What other little parlor tricks do you have?”  
  
“He can crawl,” Sam answered, “and he’s pulling himself up now. But he’s really good at crawling and it’s hard to get him to stop and learn to walk.”  
  
“Wow,” John said softly, brushing Dylan’s hair with his fingers. “You’re getting all grown up, Dylan.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam breathed. “One year already.”  
 

 


End file.
